


Behind Enemy Lines (Version 2)

by freakofgeeks



Series: Behind Enemy Lines [2]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Medical Trauma, Oral Sex, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Content, Swearing, Violence, hurt!Hawkeye
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:30:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5185361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakofgeeks/pseuds/freakofgeeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawkeye and BJ are swept up in a whirlwind- the start of an illicit, albeit enjoyable affair that the two of them never imagined. Right when an affair begins to turn into something more, Hawkeye is captured by invading North Korean soldiers. Unspeakable, unimaginable events ensue. Can the two captains handle it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the same as "Behind Enemy Lines" for the first four chapters, and partially the fifth, without mpreg as a plot point. Knowing very well mpreg is a "squick" for some people, I decided to make a version of the story without it. Here it is! 
> 
> Posted earlier than expected for Sandrina!

They didn’t know how it had happened. As cliché as it was, one thing simply lead to another and they ended up somewhere that neither had believed possible in all their years. The _affair_ , as much as BJ hated the thought, had started a few weeks ago in the supply tent, and they’d kept ending up back there ever since that day.

On that day, they’d received an excess of wounded, that never seemed to stop pouring in. Hawk had been wondering why Hill 403 was so goddamn valuable. As soon as someone took it, someone else snatched it back, like two children with a dollar store toy. Between ambulances and helicopters bounding in over the hills, they were trying to sleep and eat and shower, and hang on to their humanity. At the end of the day, not only were they spent, but so were their supplies.

“Nurse Kellye, can I get some-“ the dark-haired doctor turned around, ready to rattle off a list of things needed from supply, when he saw that the nurse he happened to be speaking to was slumped in a chair beside a patient bed, fast asleep, chart still in hand. He didn’t blame her. There were only 24 hours in a day and they’d managed to work all 25 of them. Hawkeye laughed lightly, “I’ll get them.”

Standing from his own bedside chair and hanging up the clipboard he’d had, with a chart that belonged to a kid who didn’t look like he was old enough to shave, let alone shoot, he yawned and arched his back, stretching widely.

“I hear ya.”

Hawkeye turned around to see BJ, almost out of the door to post-op himself, looking just as ragged as he was, “I’ve got to head over to supply, and then I’m turning in for the week. Care to join me?” he asked

“What do you know, I had the same plans.” Replied Hawkeye, sauntering out the door in the way that only he could, holding it open just long enough for BJ, “I think our work would be a lot easier if we installed a giant magnet on the ceiling of the OR.”

BJ raised an eyebrow as they crossed the compound for the supply tent, “Oh? How do you figure that?” he asked, amused at the thought. Days had turned to nights had turned to days and turned to nights again, though they’d been in the OR for all of it. Right now it was dark, though it was anyone’s guess if it was AM or PM. Korea was cool at night this time of year, and not completely unpleasant.

“These kids come through with so much shrapnel in them, I think a magnet could do our job in half the time.”

The taller man couldn’t help but laugh, “That would probably cut our time in half. However, if we’re not careful, it might do the same to us!” he laughed, opening the wobbly plywood door to the supply tent and giving an exaggerated bow, “Right this way, good sir.”

Hawkeye obliged gladly, “Oh, yes, thank you. I say, the service here is lovely. Now if we could just do something about the bombing.”

“This neighborhood really has gone to the dogs.” BJ added, now perusing the aisles- if hastily assembled Army-grade stacks of wood shelves counted as “aisles”- for gauze while Hawkeye looked for blankets.

“Jeez, do you think Zale could have this place in a bigger mess?” Hawkeye grumbled, reaching over BJ for a box of blankets teetering dangerously over the edge of a top shelf.

“Do you think you could be any more in my way?” BJ fired back, though it was in the tone that he used to frequently with Hawkeye that was indicative of no hostility, simply well thrown sarcasm, “Hey, will you watch out? These shelves are liable to-“

Hawkeye had finally yanked down the box of blankets, and brought the shelf with him. He’d stumbled over BJ trying to get out of the way of the shelf, and in turn, yanked the other doctor with him. It wasn’t like the supply tent could look any worse than it already was, but Margaret might have a fit when she saw.

“… Tip.” BJ finished, his friend laying across him, box of blankets slid across the floor, “Liable to tip.”

Hawkeye slid off of his friend, dusting himself off. After all, dust made the bloodstains of OR look tacky. “Come on Beej, let’s just get this stuff back to post-op. Zale can sort this out in the morn-“

When the dark-haired doctor turned around to face his fellow officer, he noticed something… off. BJ was still on the ground, hastily gathering up boxes of gauze that were no longer neatly stacked, head turned away from the other doctor. Hawkeye slid back down to the floor, “Hey, BJ, you didn’t get hurt in that mess, did you? C’mere, let me look at y-“the doctor didn’t finish his words, it was then he noticed why BJ wasn’t speaking to him.

Straining against the other Captain’s olive drab army pants was a painfully obvious erection. Hawkeye was usually the first to have a reply to any situation, and he wasn’t going to change his colors here, “Hey, Beej, c’mon. It’s perfectly natural. You of all people should know that, you’re a doctor for Christ’s sake.” He said, trying to ease the awkwardness- not to mention the tension- of the situation.

“Yeah, sure, Hawk.” BJ replied curtly, continuing to gather up gauze, until he managed to drop it again. “I’ll meet you back in The Swamp.” He said, still refusing to look at the other doctor

Hawkeye had no intention of leaving. BJ was his closest friend, and he didn’t want to leave things unsettled, or leave BJ feeling bad about himself or anything else, “Look, it’s okay. It’s been a while, yeah? You miss Peg. It’s normal.” He said, trying to soothe the other doctor

BJ fidgeted for a moment while re-gathering gauze, “Yeah, Peg…”

The dark-haired doctor looked perplexed, “What, not Peg? Then why do you feel bad abou- Is this because I fell on you? Because I was on top of you?” he asked, an air of apprehensive curiosity in his tone. That wasn’t something either of them ever talked about, though in all honesty, it wasn’t that unlikely. They were closer than two humans could ever be, and when that happens, attraction can develop like anything else.

“Just go back to the damn Swamp, Hawk, and I’ll see you in a few minutes.” BJ snapped, this time, with hostility.

Hawkeye was silent. BJ? Turned on by him? Never in his wildest dreams, and believe you him, he had them. Hawkeye _loved_ sex. He really didn’t care who with. Sex was sex, and sex was fun. Sex was the only truly pleasurable thing in this hellhole. Of course, you didn’t go spouting off about things like that. Bad things happened to people who said that. It could get him a discharge, but not one that he would want. That kind of discharge would follow him to the states and kill any chance of a career. So he flaunted his love for nurses, and kept his penchant for doctors to himself.

“BJ, it’s alright. I… I understand.”

After what seemed like far too long, BJ finally spoke up, “You know it’s… it’s not…” he tossed the gauze into the box of blankets, as if sick if its existence, “I just… I don’t know how-“ he was cut off by Hawkeye moving ever closer, one hand sliding up BJ’s leg, closer and closer to the bulging erection in his pants. BJ was aching with every touch, every move. He didn’t know how much he wanted Hawkeye until now, or how much he missed sex in general. His cock was throbbing with anticipation as Hawkeye moved closer. BJ should have said ‘no, I’m married’ or something of the like, but the words wouldn’t come. Oh, but he would.

“Feel free to stop me.” Hawkeye said in a low tone, though he meant it.

“Why would I go and do a silly thing like that?” BJ laughed nervously, eyes locked on the dark-haired doctor. He noticed, by this point, he wasn’t the only one aroused by the situation. Tentatively, he reached forward, sliding a hand across Hawk’s chest, down his stomach, and then down his pants, grasping the other doctor’s swollen cock.

Hawkeye smiled devilishly, “Looks like you found me out.” He grinned, sliding forward even more and yanking BJ’s pants open, buttons a distant thought as he slid them down enough to expose the other man’s erection, which was dripping furiously at this point. “You’re making a mess. Let me get that.”

Before BJ could fully comprehend the implication in that, Hawkeye dove down, lips encircling the other man’s cock as he worked his tongue back and forth over the sensitive skin. BJ leaned back in pure ecstasy, a low moan escaping his lips- he was afraid to be much louder, as it was only a tent at the end of the day. Hawkeye bobbed his head up and down furiously, one of his own hands holding onto his own cock and stroking while he worked over BJ with his mouth.

Whether it was how long it had been, or just how fucking turned on he was by Hawkeye in that moment, it didn’t take long at all for BJ to come in the man’s mouth, his body shaking with the release, back arching in unrestrained pleasure. He felt so good he didn’t even give another thought to what they’d just done. Then again, maybe he didn’t want to think too hard on it.

BJ didn’t think too deeply on it that night, or any nights after. They continued meeting in the supply tent when they were sure they wouldn’t be disturbed. Once they had even risked a quickie in the showers. Sometimes he thought about Peg, but he tried not to. This would stop when the war did. This would never go home with him. It never had to. It never could. The thought made his heart drop in his chest, so he didn’t think about it. Peg was his wife. Hawkeye was his… friend. A very close friend. _A lover._

One long night found them in the supply tent, after a long day in OR. The wounded were coming in with no breaks these days, and it was hitting everyone hard.

“The fighting’s getting worse, don’t you think?” Hawkeye mused, sprawled out on a cot next to BJ behind the last shelf in the supply tent.

“I think that’s an understatement.” BJ replied. However, before Hawkeye could get another word in, sarcastic or otherwise, a loud commotion was stirring outside.

“What in the hell is going on out there?” The dark-haired doctor spat, hopping up and hastily dressing. BJ followed suit as Hawkeye stepped out of the supply tent, and he was instantly greeted with complete chaos. “God dammit, where’s Potter?” he grumbled

As if reading his thoughts, the white-haired Colonel raced up to them, a folded up cot under his arm, “Glad I found you boys!” he exclaimed, gesturing to BJ, who was now present, “We’re bugging out! We’re about to become ‘the front’ if we don’t move back! North Korean troops inbound and we’ve got to skidaddle!”

“Bugging out now? Like this? Just great. We have patients fresh out of surgery!” Hawkeye protested

“No time for your complaining, Pierce! We’ve got to go! Where’s Klinger?!” the Colonel roared, heading off in search of the company clerk

“I’ll get packing, go check on the patients.” BJ said, giving Hawkeye a quick pat on the shoulder before darting off.

With no time for protest, Hawkeye darted off to post-op to try and make good on the M-for-mobile policy. When he got into the OR, what he saw wasn’t promising.

A group of five or so soldiers were dragging patients out of their beds and loading them into a U.S Army ambulance they’d no doubt acquired through unsavory means in this mess. It only took one look at the uniforms for Hawkeye to know they were North Korean.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?! Those are sick people, some of them yours!” he bellowed, charging forward. Before he could make another move, one of the soldiers slammed the stock of his gun against Hawkeye’s head.

The doctor was beginning to lose equilibrium, but if he didn’t do something, he was going to lose a lot more, “BEEJ! BJ! HELP IN O.R!” he cried, hoping his words made it across the chaotic compound.

Another blow to the head, and Hawkeye fell into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

BJ hated bugging out. He hated it even more when it was in the wee hours of the morning and the only light was coming from explosions in the not-so-distant hills. He had hurriedly packed the still, their most important possession, into an extra foot locker Klinger had “acquired” for them. The tall doctor had just dropped the lid on the foot locker and was stacking it with the other two-one belonging to him, the other to Hawkeye, when he heard his bunkmate’s screams from the other side of the compound.

“Hawk! Hold on!” he called back, skidding out of the collapsing tent- some nurses were pulling tents down, as there had been no time to properly evacuate them in this catastrophe- and running to the sound of his…. friend’s cries. BJ determined the screams to be coming from one of the Ops-post, pre, or OR itself- and ran through each building looking for the other doctor.

“Hawk! Hawkeye!” he yelled, until he stopped short in post-op just in time to see a group of North Korean uniforms loading his friend into the back of a confiscated ambulance. “Hey! Stop! The hell do you think you’re doing?” BJ cried, breaking into a full run after the ambulance as the doors closed and it began to pull away, “Get back here! That’s not yours, and neither is he!”

_Because he’s mine_ , BJ thought. An absent thought, a passing one, a fleeting thought, but it was there.

He chased the ambulance until he couldn’t see the road and couldn’t keep up any longer. The doctor sputtered on his feet, hands holding his head as if it would explode if he didn’t try to keep it together. “Dammit! Dammit, dammit, god dammit!” he screamed, to the empty night air. Shaking in anger, in panic, he raced back to camp, directly to the commanding officer.

“Potter! Potter! Get out here!” he screamed, voice beginning to waiver

After several confused moments, amongst the chaos, Colonel Potter emerged holding Sophie’s saddle, “Hunnicut! It’s Colonel Potter to you, and I believe I’m the one who does the commanding here! Just because this bugging out interrupts your beauty rest is no reason to disres-“

BJ cut off the older man, “Hawkeye’s gone! Some North Koreans took him, and some patients I think, in one of our ambulances! I saw them pulling out of post-op!” he spat hurriedly

“Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat!” Potter bellowed, face turning bright red and them paling in a matter of seconds, “Which way did they go?”

“East of the mine field! I’m going to take a jeep after them, where’s Rizzo?” Bj demanded forcefully- something that was not to be done with even Colonel Potter

“Cow cookies! Like hell you will! We’re still bugging out! If we don’t get out of here in the next ten minutes, we’ll all be taken by the enemy! You can go after him when we get somewhere new, I’ll have Klinger call ICORPS and see what they can do. Go pack something up and start pulling out! And that’s an order!” Potter bellowed, stomping his foot for effect.

BJ hissed a few obscenities under his breath, “Fine, if that’s what you want. Fine! As soon as we park it somewhere, I’m gone.” He warned. He could be court-martialed, he could be killed. He didn’t care.

Potter didn’t protest this time. He hadn’t wanted to be so harsh, but it was a tough choice in a tough situation and he had no other options. He wanted to find Pierce as much as BJ, but right now, he had a whole camp to worry about.

BJ could only worry about Hawkeye. He had to get him back. He just had to.

He _needed_ to.


	3. Chapter 3

Normally, Hawkeye missed home. He missed his father. He missed his house. His friends. He missed fresh Maine lobster on a breezy evening. He never knew life would get bad enough that he would miss the 4077th. He missed hearing people speak English. He even missed Charles’ stupid records.

He missed BJ. God, he missed BJ the most right now. BJ was the reason he was keeping himself alive in this war. BJ made life bearable, BJ was his voice of reason when it all became too much and he wanted to do something stupid. Such as yelling at a group of North Koreans who were stealing their patients and the proceeding to run towards them instead of backing out.

The ambulance ride had been hell. Whoever was driving, couldn’t. They’d managed to hit every pothole in Korea. At least, he hoped they had been potholes and not people. The drive wasn’t that long, twenty minutes tops. Hawkeye still had no clue where they were. When they arrived wherever they had arrived to, which looked like an old building that had converged into a hillside, the soldiers loaded them- Hawkeye and the stolen patients- into it. He’d only briefly gotten a look at the area- craters made by bombs, shell fragments and mortar remains littered everywhere. It looked like there hadn’t been a fight here for a few weeks at most.

Nobody spoke English, or at least, no one spoke English to him. He kept trying, though. He kept up his sarcasm, his wit, his insults. Each one hit a wall and shattered, proving futile. Everything was proving futile. He was starting to lose hope in everything. Even his humor.

The soldiers had kept them locked up in a dark, damp room. The door opened once a day, and battered silver trays were slid in, across the floor. It was cold. It was musty. It was miserable. Hawkeye had examined every inch with his hands, trying to find a crack, a nail, anything that might help him. Anything at all. He found nothing.

One by one the patients were dying. Five of them arrived, and only one remained. They had been fresh out of OR when the soldiers threw them onto the ambulance- which, in reality, was just a bus with a red cross painted on it. Hawkeye knew it was his job to keep these boys alive, but he wondered why they had taken wounded men. Some had been Korean- north or south, he was unsure- and some had been American, so it couldn’t have been hostages, could it?

The doctor was without any medical supplies, so he did what he could with the little he had trying to keep the boys- rest assured, they were not old enough to be men- alive. Occasionally, one of the soldiers would come take one of them. Maybe the boy wouldn’t be brought back. Maybe he would be brought back in worse condition. It was different every time. Hawkeye didn’t know why they were taking them.

It was after several weeks- maybe a month, he figured. He’d been trying to keep track of time best he could- that Hawkeye was the only one left. He was angry. He was sick. He was in pain. He wanted to know why no one had come. He wanted to know why no one had found him. If they had even looked. If the Army had done anything at all. He doubted that- the Army never did anything for them except arm them.

The cold and damp and lack of good- if any, some days- food had weakened him, and standing was a task in itself now. If he did stand, his head filled with air and his eyes blurred. He didn’t stand a lot. He knew he had to, or he might start losing use of his muscles. He had a black eye and a broken arm, possibly a broken rib or two. He wasn’t coherent enough to tell. He figured out very quickly that it was indeed his job to take care of these boys. Every time one died in the room, one of the soldiers came would yell and scream at him, thought he didn’t understand a word of it. He would get kicked and punched, which he supposed meant, “Do better next time.” He was giving it his all already.

Now he was alone. The last boy had died this morning, drowning in his own blood. Hawkeye couldn’t do anything but wait for the soldiers to come in and discover this. He didn’t know what would happen to him, what with being the last one left.

It was several hours before the door was opened, letting in small bits of light. Hawkeye shielded his eyes- it’d been a while since he’d seen that much light. The soldier took a look at the now-dead boy beside Hawkeye. The doctor braced for impact. But it never came. The soldier called back out into the hall and two more came in, each one taking Hawkeye by one arm and yanking him out of the room.

“Hey, what’s the big idea? You gonna let me go now? That’s what I’d do. And I know me, I give good advice.” He said. He’d never lost his humor. It was all he had. Even though his voice waivered and choked, it would always have a joke.

Before he knew what was going on, he felt himself hoisted up and laid down on what had to have been a table. Someone in full scrubs came in, while the two that carried him in began to strip him. Oh, this didn’t look good. Hawkeye protested wildly, adrenaline kicking in, “Oh no you don’t, no way in hell, buddy! Trust me, I’ve been there!” he said, though his body was too weak to put up the fight he’d liked, even with the adrenaline.

As a mask was put over his face, and he began breathing in air that he knew would put him to sleep, he heard a voice that was distinctly familiar.

“Let me know when you’re done here, I’ll deliver him.”

That was English. The first English he’d heard in too long. Oh, and he knew that voice! He’d heard it before, and he knew it. If only he could remember a name, a face, anything. He knew that voice, thought. That was all the information he had. He knew that goddamn voice and he would run with that as far as he could.

A few more breaths in, and he was out like a light. His last thought a hopeless one;

 _What if I don’t wake up?_


	4. Chapter 4

Hawkeye came to with muffled voices going back and forth. Mostly Korean, with one voice speaking English. The English voice would speak and get replies in Korean. That’s it, that was the English voice he heard before he went under. That’s the voice he knew, and it was eating away at his insides that he couldn’t remember the person that voice belonged too. It was so close, on the tip of his tongue, and he couldn’t think of it for the life of him.

Speaking of his insides, that’s when he realized what he was waking up from. Something felt very wrong, and very painful inside of him. Then again, he’d obviously had some sort of major surgery so what could he really come to expect? What could they have done? Were they taking organs to sell on the black market? Wouldn’t it have been easier to hijack an ambulance or take hostages in battle? Why would they take wounded kids for that? Especially with the damage already done and the risk of infection?

Something felt very wrong, but he was in too much pain to figure out what they’d done. What were they going to do with him now? He couldn’t find his voice to speak up, or crack a joke, and he felt completely exposed.

“He’s ready?”

That was the English voice. English was a second language, though. It was barely detectable, as whoever it was had learned English very well, but he’d been here long enough to know the difference. Some Korean was spoken back to the voice.

“He’ll survive. He’s a doctor, after all.”

This person knew who he was. That was even more terrifying. More Korean was exchanged.

“Load him into the jeep. We’ll leave right away.”

Jeep? As in the magical vehicle that could hit every pothole in Korea and was made of the cheapest Army-grade materials known to the Pacific Theater? That ‘jeep?’

While his mind raced with possibilities of who it could be, or more accurately, who it was that he couldn’t remember, he felt himself being hoisted off of the table, and slid onto what he assumed was a stretcher. It was uncomfortable and felt like it might give at any second, so it had to be a stretcher. He craned his neck, trying to get a look at who might be speaking English. One of the soldiers must have spotted him doing this, so the next thing he knew, there was a bag thrown over his head. It was musty and itchy, which told him, Army canvas. Must be a duffel or a medical field bag.

Hawkeye knew when they were outside, even though he couldn’t see the sun, because he felt the air. He felt the heat. He’d missed it more than anything. The doctor felt himself being heaved onto the back of what he assumed to be the jeep. A lot of assumptions were to be made here. He didn’t have a lot of knowledge to work with. He heard a short exchange of Korean before the jeep revved up and they were off, and if he thought the ambulance ride here was miserable, the jeep ride here was even worse.

In the course of this twenty minute ride, he wished for death more times that when he’d arrived in Korea. He cursed God and anyone else who would listen. Somewhere around the halfway mark, his pain had intensified to a level that would have brought him to his knees had he been standing. He vomited on himself, and partially the jeep, his head spinning circles around his body, or at least it felt that way to him.

The jeep began to slow and he could hear the faint sound of… people? English speaking people. Where were they? Before he could focus in on any of the voices, he was lifted out of the back of the jeep and dropped to the ground, causing him to cry out in pain.

“Your unit is a two minute walk away, Captain. Maybe an hour long crawl if you hurry.” The voice said maliciously. That was the last he heard before the jeep was quickly fired up again, and driven off behind him.

Hawkeye tried to wrangle the bag off of his head and catch a glimpse of the jeep, and it’s driver, but by the time he was able to do so the vehicle was kicking up dust in the distance. Instead he took a good look at himself. He was still covered in his own vomit and blood. He wondered if he had stitches or staples, and if they were going to bust at any movement. But he had to risk it. If the 4077th really was that close, he had to try. If he’d been lied to, then this was it and he had to accept it.

So the rugged Captain began to crawl in the direction he had been told. Every inch was agony and he’d lost his pride. His will. Tears fell against his own desires, and his skull felt like it was on fire. But he had to make it.

_Think of BJ._

“Help!” he cried every so often, hoping someone would hear, someone would come help him the rest of the way. He didn’t know if he could do it on his own. He kept trying, though. He kept crying out periodically- and it took a lot of his energy when he did- and crawling as fast as he could. He didn’t think he could make it to his feet on his own. He crawled and crawled until he saw the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on; the dirty, downtrodden sign that said “4077th M*A*S*H”

This time he gave it all he had to scream, but nothing came out. He was about to lose consciousness if someone didn’t come see him. He stopped on the threshold of the sign, finally dropping to the ground, breathing heavily.

“Captain? Is that you?” came a surprised, breathless voice

Klinger, that was Klinger! Oh that lovable Lebanese had seen him!

“Captain Hunnicut! Captain! Get your butt out here now!” Klinger cried, moving closer to Hawkeye, “Captain, you alright? What can I do? COLONEL POTTER! COLONEL!”

Though Hawkeye thought it odd at first that Klinger would call BJ over their C.O, he realized it wasn’t that unlikely. Colonel Potter may have been the C.O, but BJ was his friend. His best friend. His only one.

He heard boots pounding the ground over to him. The first voice he heard was the sweetest thing to grace his ears in far too long,

“Oh god, Hawk. Hawk, talk to me. It’s BJ, come on, talk to me, what happened?”

Hawkeye tried to open his mouth, but it just wouldn’t obey him. Colonel Potter wasn’t far behind then, coming up right behind BJ, “Holy Hemostat! Son, how did you get here? Where did you come from?”

Hawkeye still wasn’t doing too well on the speaking department, but BJ was saying more than enough for the both of them, “Where’s a damn corpsman when you need one? Or a stretcher? Can I get any damn service around here? Can’t you people see we need help?” he screamed, trying to look Hawkeye over where they were

“Come on, son, we’ll carry him.” Colonel Potter said, trying to calm BJ, “Take him by the shoulders, I’ll help you with-“

“I got it.” BJ snapped, carefully bringing Hawkeye into his arms, shoulder’s first, attempting to have him stand up. Hawkeye’s legs wouldn’t comply and BJ ended up carrying most of the weight. Under normal circumstances Colonel Potter would have ripped BJ a new one for being so disrespectful, but in the given situation, the Colonel just didn’t have the heart to do it. Not now. He’d rip him one later.

BJ carried Hawkeye to pre-op for an assessment, carefully setting him down on one of the cots laying out, Colonel Potter trailing behind- he’d sent Klinger to go call ICORPS and update them on the situation, see what they could do, see if they could find out who’d brought him back, and if they could send Sidney Freedman down, “Hawk? Can you talk to me?”

This time Hawkeye was able to open his mouth, but words were proving difficult, “Dead. All the patients. Dead.” He mumbled

BJ frowned. Those kids… young kids, with so much to live for, gone. He told himself to mourn later. Right now he had to focus on keeping the one survivor talking- and living, “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Strange surgery.. They… something strange… to me…” His words were breaking up now, and his thoughts were scrambling.

Colonel Potter froze stiff. This was WWII all over again. He’d heard of this happening before. The enemy takes soldiers for experimental surgery, or just for medical torture. He’d never known anyone to come back the same. Sometimes they didn’t come back at all.

BJ gnashed his teeth together, “It’s going to be okay, Hawk. It’s going to be okay.” He assured the Captain, and he was going to do all he could to make that the truth. “Hawk, I’ve got to go talk to the Colonel. I’ll be right back.” He said, watching Hawkeye to make sure he understood.

Colonel Potter took the cue and they made their way just outside the door to pre-op. This was going to be a tough one. “What’ya think they did to him?” the Colonel asked

BJ shook his head, “I don’t know. He doesn’t seem too keen on talking.”

“We might have to open him up, son. To see what they did and if we can fix it.” The Colonel said. It wasn’t an order or a command. He didn’t have any of those for this. In all his years, this was something he’d never faced before.

“Are you kidding? Look at him. Not only is he a wreck, I don’t know if he’d survive the operating table. No way, Colonel. Court-martial me, call me insubordinate, throw me in the stockade, I don’t care. But I won’t let you open him up.” BJ stood firm, arms over his chest

Colonel Potter put a hand up as if to say stop, “Don’t worry, Hunnicut. I understand where you’re coming from. We’ll wait and see. Get him better first. I’m putting you in charge of that.” He said, though he didn’t expect any protests over the order

BJ nodded silently, “I’ll give it my best. Let me know when Klinger finds out anything.”

“Will do.” The colonel nodded, before returning to his office

BJ was going to make this right. He was going to help his friend. He was going to do everything he could to make him okay again.

If he even could.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I took a few days off, my apologies! Anywho. For those of you who wanted this version of the story, I decided to update it first. If you read the original, this chapter should look familiar... to a point. I did a little surgery of my own on it to adapt it for this version of the story. This chapter is what will begin to set the two versions apart, very drastically. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

BJ was adjusting to having Hawkeye back. He’d just adjusted to not having him here. Well, not really, but he’d told himself that he had. Whenever he had a thought, something he might find laughable, he’d learned to keep it to himself. Without Hawkeye, what was the point of telling any jokes? He and Charles got along very well in Hawkeye’s absence. They were strictly professional. BJ did his job, and then went to bed, and made no disturbance.

Charles enjoyed the silence, the peace, for a few days. After a week, even he was beginning to get upset. He didn’t get along with Pierce, he didn’t enjoy the other doctor’s company, and he was forever wishing both of them would leave him alone. But under it all, Charles was human. He had emotions, no matter how deeply he buried them, he did have them. Besides, Winchesters were proud men. Noble men. Brave men. The best men. He would disgrace the name if he sat aside like a weak, simple commoner. Winchesters got things done.

So the Bostonian began yelling at everyone who was a major or higher, from Busan to Tokyo, to get Pierce back. He wouldn’t be caught caring, though. He hid it under the guise of being tired of picking up Pierce’s share of the work, of having more to do because he couldn’t find his way back to the camp. This was for his own interests, not at all for Pierce.

Of course, he wouldn’t have had to do Pierce’s work if it weren’t for Hunnicut scaring off all the surgeons. Every time Potter tried to bring in a replacement, always reminding them it was temporary, BJ would run him off. Insulting his work, picking fights, tearing down his bunk on “accident.” He wouldn’t allow anyone to take Hawkeye’s place here.

Now that Hawkeye was back, it was over. Charles was in Seoul on a 48-hour pass trying to shove his reputation up the ass of someone at ICORP who wasn’t working fast enough at this problem. Klinger had been trying to get through, to tell him to come back and that they needed him, but the lines were down on account of enemy shelling.

Hawkeye had taken a few days to get back to his job. He wondered if this would get him a discharge. If this was what it would take to get him home. Colonel Potter had definitely tried. He didn’t let on around BJ that he was trying to get Hawkeye home. The Colonel thought that might be explosive. Lo’ and behold, though, it didn’t matter. This wouldn’t send him home. Hawkeye was a surgeon and they were needed more than anything. It would take a lot to send him home. That phone call had nearly given Colonel Potter an aneurism.

“What do you mean this can’t send him home?!” The Colonel’s voice raged

“Well, he’s a surgeon, isn’t he? Did he come back with his hands?” A major asked, who was currently sitting behind a cushy desk job in Tokyo

“Yes he came back with his hands! His feet, too! Any other body parts you need accounting for, sonny?” Colonel Potter bellowed

“Colonel, I’m sorry, but we can’t send him home. You know the points needed to go home just went up. He’s got his hands, he’s come back, and he’s a surgeon. If he were a line soldier, we could send him home. But he’s a surgeon and we can use all of those we can get! He stays, Colonel. I see here that you’ve sent up for a psychiatrist. Let the head shrink work him over, give him some R&R in Tokyo, and get him back to work. There’s nothing more I can do.”

_Click._

“Cow Cookies! 40 years in this man’s army and you think that’d mean I get what I ask for, dammit!” Potter swore violently, slamming the phone down, “Klinger! Bring me discharge forms!”

Klinger strode into the office, no papers in hand however, a reluctant look on his face, “Colonel, I can’t. You know it. If anyone knows about discharge rules, it’s me.”

“I’m the commanding officer! I should be able to discharge whoever I damn well please!”

“Sir, I know, I believe that too! But he’s not one of the boys that comes through here. He isn’t hurt enough for the Army to let him go.” Klinger said calmly, letting out an exasperated breath.

That ended that, but left the Colonel with a burr under his saddle for a few days. To be told no by a major! Unheard of in WWII!

It looked like Hawkeye was staying. He was secretly glad for this. The only person who could understand him, understand what had happened, was here in Korea. As much as he loved his father, his friends back home, they would never know. They could never begin to know.

He had been on bed rest for a few days while he recovered from mystery surgery. He didn’t speak, not to anyone but BJ, and even then it was broken sentences. BJ couldn’t get much out of him about what had happened, even though he tried. Hawkeye had refused to recover in post-op. He didn’t want to be around people. There were people he hadn’t talked to, or even been around, since he’d been back. Margaret. Klinger, save for when he was found at the sign. Father Mulcahy. He didn’t want to see anyone.

He didn’t go outside much in general. Their tent had been changed for the winter. It was getting colder and the bare netting was no longer enough, so it was changed out to heavy canvas, as was done when it got cold. That was fine. He didn’t want to see the outside world anyway.

BJ had tried discussing with him, or actually, talking at him about opening him up to see what had been done. Hawkeye refused. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to. He couldn’t deal with that thought right now. BJ understood, but he knew it would need to be done soon. Eventually. Be done, period.  
  
“Hawk… You have to think about it.”

“No.”

“You know, we have to see what-“

“I said no!”

The conversation typically went the same way every time. BJ approached the subject gingerly, but it never seemed to do him any good. He was always met with violent outbursts and then a silent treatment. He wanted to be angry. But he couldn’t be. Not over this. Not in this situation.

After about five days, Hawkeye was well enough to stand, to walk on his own. He was stronger than he had been, with no help from mess tent food. He could help in triage again, he could operate, but only for so long before it all became too much and he had to retire back to the tent. Every time he had a kid opened up, he couldn’t help but wonder if that was what his insides looked like- are they the same? Are they different? How? Why? What did they do? He had to shake the thought as soon as it came, or it would ruin him.

Sidney Freedman had been there for three days. Hawkeye would walk in and then out of the VIP tent where the psychiatrist was staying, for five or ten minutes at a time. He didn’t say a lot, but Sidney didn’t see this going well. At least, not this soon. He wasn’t going to give up, though.

“Well, doc, what’s the prognosis?” Colonel Potter had asked him, before he left

“He’s closed himself off. He won’t open up to anyone. But he will. He has people here who genuinely care for him, and that can make all the difference. I have to get back to Seoul, but at the first sign of trouble, call for me. I’ll be here faster than you can say ‘Freud.’” Sidney concluded

Potter thought that sounded promising to a degree, and he was going to work at it. After all, he was the C.O, and he had to take care of his chief surgeon.

However, what Sidney had said wasn’t entirely true. Hawkeye hadn’t closed himself off to everyone. He opened up to BJ. Not vocally, but physically. It was the only way the doctor could feel anything. The most intimate form of sharing he could have, with BJ. It was somewhere between sex and _making love_ but it made him feel something, even if he didn’t want to. They snuck it in when Charles was out of the tent, and with the canvas over it, no one could see. Of course, Charles wasn’t gone all the time, and it was because of this they frequented the supply tent.

Charles was a different person these days, as well. He still played his music, but not loudly. He still cooked his disgusting, expensive food over a makeshift hot plate, but not every day. He had a basic level of respect and decency. But he wouldn’t let it show.

One day in particular, about three weeks after Hawkeye had returned, Charles had decided to make kippers and onions over his small, personal frying pan- that no doubt had his initials engraved on it somewhere in fancy, scrawling script- while BJ and Hawkeye played a silent game of cards. Hawkeye had been coming out of his shell more and more as the days and then weeks went by, and one of the first things to come back were their card games.

BJ was dealing their new hand while Charles was sautéing his heart out. Hawkeye, perched on the edge of his cot, scrunched up his nose, eyeing Charles’ meal-in-progress, though he didn’t say anything. He hated when Charles decided to cook in the-

Before he could have another thought, he found himself leaning outside of the tent, holding onto the door for support as whatever the mess tent had served was projectile vomited out and onto the dead shrubbery.

“See what your cooking does?” BJ jabbed at Charles, who simply sneered at him. The taller doctor walked over to his friend, “Hawk, you okay?” he asked, laying one hand between the dark-haired doctor’s shoulders.

“Beej… something’s not r-..right…” Hawkeye stammered, sliding down to his knees, one hand clutching his stomach, the other siding down the side of the tent

A flash of panic raced across BJ’s eyes, “Hawk? Hawk? Talk to me, come on.” He urged, hooking his arms under Hawkeye’s, “Charles, do something for someone else, get me Colonel Potter. Have him meet me in x-ray.”

Charles would have protested. He normally would have fired back about all he had done, all he’d already done for Hawkeye, for both of them, but something told him to refrain himself. Maybe it was the fact that BJ was prone to bursts of violence these days if you provoked him too far and he didn’t want to break his Winchester nose. So he did indeed send for Colonel Potter… by means of Klinger, rather than himself.

BJ carried Hawkeye to x-ray, and was soon met by Colonel Potter, still in his bathrobe and slippers, “What in blazes happened to him?” the Colonel demanded

“I dunno, he threw up and collapsed. Charles is cooking again, but he’s done that before, so I don’t know. He won’t let us open him up, and I’m not doing it against his will. God knows he’s been through… I’m not doing it.” BJ trailed off, shaking his head, “So let’s get some x-rays, blood tests, the works. We can do most of that here, without involving Tokyo.”

Colonel Potter, who was not used to taking orders from a rank lower than him, nodded in agreement, “Sounds good, Hunnicut. Good with you Pierce?” he asked, looking over at the dark-haired doctor. Pierce nodded, though the rest of him was swaying. He felt liable to pass out.

BJ supported him- literally- through most of it, holding him up where he could or leaning him up against something. In less than an hour, they had x-rays and blood tests done. BJ wanted to go over the results with Potter first, instead of blindly upsetting Hawkeye.

“Are these the right ones?”

“Of course, there the only ones we’ve got.”

“But that says… And look at the x-ray, see that? Right there?”

“D’you think that they…?”

“They had to of! Look at that spot right there, do you see it?”

Hawkeye finally spoke up, “Will someone talk to me, and not about me?”

“Son, there’s no easy way to say this…” Colonel Potter began, shuffling the x-rays in his hands absentmindedly- an old nervous habit, “We can’t see much of everything. It looks like things have been feng-shuied on your insides.”

Before Hawkeye could say anything, BJ interjected, “You have to let us open you up, Hawk. We can’t see what they did any other way. X-rays don’t come in color.”

Hawkeye sat in silent deliberation for what, to him, felt like years. He didn’t want to be opened up again. He was the doctor- he was supposed to do the opening up, not the other way around. He knew, though. He knew if he didn’t do anything, in his professional opinion, his days were numbered, and it was single digits.

“Alright. Go scrub up. I want BJ to operate on me. No offense, Colonel.”

Offended? No. Maybe a little put out, but Colonel Potter understood. And he didn’t let on of anything else. “I’ll be standing by.”

Hawkeye wished for the world that he was the one scrubbing up this time.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in updating, also apologies for the brevity of this chapter.

Hawkeye didn’t go down easily. He’d never had major surgery in his life. He still had everything a person came with; tonsils, appendix, the works. The only major surgery he’d had was the one that had lead him to need this one now. He didn’t like being on the receiving end of the deal, lying on the table with his life floating above him, waiting on someone else to stitch it up. Luckily that someone else was BJ Hunnicut.

BJ had agreed to do his surgery, while Potter stood by as an anesthetist. He hadn’t done this himself since he was a sergeant, but Pierce had asked for BJ to do the surgery and Potter himself wasn’t too proud to hold the mask in his hands again.

“You ready, Hawk?” BJ asked, gloved up and scrubbed up, mask over his bushy mustache.

“Ready as I possibly can be. Go ahead and put me under, Colonel.” Hawkeye said, taking in one last, long, shaky breath.

Potter nodded, “Alright, son. Don’t worry.” He said, laying the mask over Hawkeye’s face, watching as the Captain’s eyes slowly drifted shut. It was less than thirty seconds before he was safely out. “Alright, Hunnicut. Make it quick, but make it good.”

BJ nodded silently. He never thought he’d have to cut open Hawkeye. Or anyone, really; most of the people that came through were already open. Scalpel sliding down Hawkeye’s midsection, BJ braced himself. He didn’t know what would- or wouldn’t- be there.

There was no OR banter today. It was just him and Potter there, and BJ didn’t feel like talking, let alone joking. Not with what he was doing. Once Hawkeye was open, BJ began attempting to take inventory- two lungs, one heart, small intestine, large intestine, and… only one kidney.

“Missing one kidney.” BJ remarked, snarling under his surgical mask, “They probably sold it on the black market.”

“Damn.” Potter hissed, shaking his head

“That’s all I can find missing… But everything’s been rewired and stitched all wrong. I don’t know what they thought they were doing. Removing a kidney doesn’t take all this.” BJ groaned, peeking behind the small intestine.

“Surgical practice. Hawkeye said all the boys they took with him didn’t make it back. They’re probably practicing radical surgical technique and don’t want to do it on their own boys. It’s nothing to them if our side loses a few, all the better for them.” Potter said, voice calm but cold

“Ridiculous! Ignorant! Stupid, above all else!” BJ growled, unstitching part of a bowel from… well, he didn’t know where it was connected yet.

“It’s more trouble for them if they practice on their own people, but if they take enemy hostages? No one bats an eye.” Potter noted, “The South Korean government has strict laws in place about North Koreans taking South Korean hostages, but nothing much has been able to pass about visiting countries.”

BJ worked the rest of the surgery in silence and anger, but he wasn’t sloppy. This was his best friend. He had to be careful. God knows the last people in here weren’t. The surgeon did his best, and only his best, at un-stitching and re-stitching, re-arranging in the correct order. He thought to himself that, after all this, he’d have to get Potter something for sticking in here with him.

Potter had told Klinger that there was an emergency and he would be out of commission for an indefinite amount of time. Besides, the company clerk could usually handle most things and they weren’t due for any wounded at the moment.

They were in the OR for nearly ten hours before BJ closed. With a deep sign and a sinking expression, he closed and covered the new line of stitches in dressings. “He’s not going to like being in post-op, but we can’t take him right back to The Swamp.” BJ noted, discarding his gloves and pulling down his mask, “With your permission, Colonel, I’m going to put him up as appendicitis.”

Colonel Potter nodded, “It won’t go on any official records. Not like anyone around here is going to raising hell about it. Still, let’s try to be a little more accurate.” He said. Potter would help his men until the day he dies, but he was still regular army at the end of the day and he wouldn’t break regulation if he would help it. “I’ll put ‘reconstructive surgery’ on the follow-up going to ICORP for the case.”

“Sounds good, Colonel. Help me get him in there.” BJ requested, taking on end of the stretcher for himself and watching as the Colonel took the other.

The two of them laid Hawkeye in a bed at the empty end of the post-op ward, technically true but falsified to an extent chart hanging on the end. This could not be done, however, without attracting the attention of Margaret, who was just checking in for duty.

“Colonel Potter! What’s happened to Captain Pierce?” She asked breathlessly

“Down, Major. There were some complications from his injuries. We had to go in and fix them.” Colonel Potter stated, calm as possible in the given situation.

BJ was glad that the colonel spoke for him, because he didn’t know if he could say it all with a straight face, or say anything at all. The surgeon slunk down in a chair next to the bed, taking a deep, much needed breath, “I’ll sit with him a while.”

“Now son, you need a break. Go take a shower, get a few hours of shut-eye.” Colonel Potter suggested, in the tone he used that sounded less like a suggestion and more like an order, “Margaret can look after him, she’s our best nurse, after all.”

Margaret beamed with pride, “Of course, sir. Don’t worry, Captain Hunnicut. I’ll alert you at the first sign of any problems.”

BJ sighed, “Don’t worry? That’s all I have to do with my spare time.” He grumbled.

Of course, showering was also nice. Fastest shower he’d ever taken before he was back in that chair.

 _If only_ , he thought, _I’d been fast enough that night he called for me._

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I feel so bad about not updating in so long. Life got very busy for me very suddenly, and I took a vacation that lasted longer than I intended. I hope there’s still some interest in this story. Apologies! I'd really appreciate some feedback. It'd mean a lot to me!

When Hawkeye came to, BJ was asleep, slumped in one of the rickety metal chairs that the hospital kept around. He was instantly made aware of a startlingly strong pain that ran from his ribs all the way down, but it was different than before. As a doctor, it wasn’t hard to figure out that things had once again been… shifted. The doctor sighed deeply and relaxed into the lumpy mattress. _Things are back to normal,_ he thought. At least, it was the beginning of normal.

He wondered what exactly had been done, and what had to be done to fix it. The dark-haired captain barely had time to think any more on the subject before BJ stirred next to him, nearly sliding out of the chair in an attempt to stretch and loosen stiff muscles. Sleeping in that chair was the least comfortable, next to the army issue cots.

“Hey, Hawk, you’re awake.” BJ remarked, smiling at his friend.

Hawkeye had missed that smile. It was comforting. Assuring. It was _safe_. “Yeah, I am. Are you surprised?” he joked, a smile of his own appearing.

“Not at all. I am, after all, an amazing surgeon.” BJ joked, tension in his shoulders slowly releasing as he watched Hawkeye, “How do you feel?”

Hawkeye rolled his head from side to side as if in contemplation, “Like hell. But better than before. So maybe purgatory?” he laughed, watching for any subtleties in BJ’s expression that would allude to a bigger problem he wasn’t yet aware of, “You want to tell me what exactly you did in there?” the doctor asked, smile fading just a bit. He didn’t really want to talk about it. Not at all, in truth. But it was gnawing at him, deep down in a place he didn’t often visit. He couldn’t live, not knowing what had been down, to his own damn body.

BJ frowned. He knew Hawkeye was going to ask this sooner or later, he just hadn’t planned on sooner. “Well, Hawkeye…” he began, scratching the back of his neck nervously, “You’re just fine, now, but before…” the doctor trailed on, unsure how to finish. He’d just seen Hawkeye’s smile return for the first time in too long. He didn’t want to be the one to make it disappear again.

“Go on, Beej. I want to know.” Hawkeye urged insistently, gently sliding up in bed an inch or two to get comfortable.

BJ instinctively held his hands out over Hawkeye’s shoulders as if to tell him to stay down and take it easy, which also helped him stall, “Hawk… It was a mess in there. God, everything was all wrong. Things were sewn to places they shouldn’t have been… Colonel Potter suspects they were experim-“ he stopped himself. That didn’t need to be said. Not right now.

Hawkeye’s breathing drew heavy and hard as he listened to BJ explain. He didn’t need BJ to finish what he was saying to know what he was going to say. Medical experiments. On his body. Without his consent. He felt physically ill in the worst way. He knew there was more to the story, all by the look on his friend’s face. There was something else he left out.

“What… What else, Beej?” he asked, attempting to control his breathing as he spoke.

BJ braced for impact, trying to prepare for any possible reaction, “You’re missing a kidney. They took it in the process of… whatever they were doing.” He said, eyes trained on Hawkeye.

That was the last straw. Hawkeye couldn’t take it after that. His body had been invaded, contorted, rewired, and _robbed_. He’s been ripped open and gutted like a goddamn fish and he had no control over it. He didn’t have control over anything, especially not vomiting all over his blankets in that moment.

Margaret, who was on duty, quickly rushed over and snatched the blankets off of Hawkeye with the promise of bringing back new ones. “Here, let me clean you up.” She said, a damp cloth in hand, reaching to wipe stray traces of vomit off of Hawkeye’s chin. Hawkeye nearly combusted, slinging her hand away so fast he almost broke it.

“Don’t touch me! Get away from me!” He screamed, to which Margaret jumped back in surprise. Hawkeye had never raised a hand to her, or anyone. Well, except Frank Burns. Everyone still had a bit of a giggle over that one. Nonetheless, she backed away, soiled sheets in hand, and then left the post-op completely, presumably to the laundry tent.

BJ was trying to calm Hawkeye down, but the dark-haired doctor was hearing none of it. “Hawk, it’s okay, you’ll be fine. Lots of kids come through here with only one kidney and they live! You’ll be fine too!” he tried, holding Hawkeye firmly by his shoulders to keep him from rupturing his sutures.

“That’s not the point!” Hawkeye screamed, to no one in particular, despite the fact that the other patients were now staring at him, “They stole it! They had no right! They didn’t have right to any of me! To anything they did!” he screamed, voice beginning to go hoarse and choke.

It was then that Margaret returned, this time with Colonel Potter who had a syringe in hand, “Pierce, I know this is all a big shock, but I need you to calm down. We have other patients here.” The old cavalryman said calmly, keeping a distance of a few feet between them for the time being, “I’m just going to give you a little shot to help you calm down.”

Hawkeye was having none of it, and viciously spit at the Colonel, “No! Not anymore! Get away from me!” he raged, trying to break free from BJ, who was having one hell of a time keeping him from completely destroying all the work they had done. BJ was scared. He’d never seen Hawkeye like this. This wasn’t him, not in the slightest. God damn if he couldn’t wait to have his old friend back.

Colonel Potter began to get frustrated, “Pierce, I will not have this in my camp! If you’ll calm down, we can talk about this! If you can’t, I’ll have to calm you down myself!”

BJ looked up at the colonel in a way that was almost pleading, “Colonel, you know this isn’t him.” He said. Colonel Potter must have seen an opportunity there, because he slid in and, with all the precision of the surgeon he was, slid the needle into Hawkeye’s arm. Within fifteen seconds, the dark-haired doctor slumped back into the bed and his eyelids drifted shut.

BJ took a deep breath, relieved, but still shaking. Colonel Potter sighed and handed the used syringe off to Margaret, who then escorted it to a disposable container for such objects. “I know this isn’t him. But it’s going to take some work to get him back.” The colonel said, frowning.

BJ nodded. He knew. He knew it’d take a whole hell of a lot. And he was willing to put in all the work.

No matter what it took.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time in a while that I've been able to update more than twice in a month. Woo-hoo for me. Enjoy, folks. As always, feedback is much appreciated. I enjoy the interaction with you guys. :)

After Hawkeye had been sedated against his will, a fact that BJ knew he wouldn’t take to kindly to when he finally woke up again, the tired Captain slumped forward in his chair, holding his head in his hands.

“You didn’t need to do that. I could have calmed him down.” BJ insisted, looking up at the Colonel.

“Son, I know it’s hard for you to see past what’s going on with him right now, but we do have other patients here. This is still a hospital. I can’t have him flipping cow chips in the middle of post-op.” Colonel Potter reminded him firmly

“Are you just going to keep sedating him every time he wakes up? He’s never going to be able to face any of this if we don’t try talking to him!” BJ said, a bit louder, as he stood up from his chair, suddenly regaining feeling in his backside after several hours in the rickety old chair.

Colonel Potter gave a warning look, “Do I need to sedate you now? Calm down, Hunnicut. When he wakes up, you can talk to him, but I don’t want him to have another episode. Maybe it’s best you move him into The Swamp, for his sake?”

BJ hesitated for a moment before answering. While Hawkeye was still relatively fresh from surgery, and post-op was the ideal environment for recovery, it was probably best that the next time we woke up, it was somewhere familiar to him in a personal way. “Alright. Have Klinger come help me move him.”

“I’ll do just that.” Colonel Potter nodded, turning on his well-polished heel to return to his office and retrieve the company clerk, but stopped short, “Hunnicut, do you know if he’s talked to his father? Come to think of it, I don’t know if the Army notified him when we got him back.”

BJ hadn’t thought of that either. Hawkeye had been so out of it since his return, could he have forgotten? No. He wouldn’t have. Not after the last incident with Graves Registration. Hawkeye had driven himself mad trying to get word to his father that he was not in fact dead, and that was when nothing had been wrong at all. The army had done their job backwards there, there was no telling what they’d done this time, if anything. This time Hawkeye would have made sure himself. Or at least, BJ hoped he had. He would have to look into that later.

“I’ll check on that. When he wakes up, do you think Klinger could patch a call through? It might do him good to talk to him for a couple minutes.” BJ suggested, shrugging his shoulders in an anything-to-help way

The old cavalryman nodded, one finger waving at BJ, “Good idea. I’ll get Klinger to help you with him.” He said. With that, the C.O returned through the doors through which he had entered. Klinger made his own entrance through them moments after, stretcher in hand for transport.

It took the two about fifteen minutes to transport Hawkeye and his IV from post-op to The Swamp. Then again, BJ was taking things very slowly and trying to be as careful as he possibly could. When he finally got his friend settled in his cot back in The Swamp, he gave Klinger a nod of appreciation.

“Thanks, Klinger. When he wakes up, do you think you could patch a call to Crabapple Cove back to his f-“ Klinger cut him off with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head.

“Colonel Potter already told me. Consider it done.” Klinger said solemnly. It was unlike him to act like this. Very unlike him to take a favor without a bribe. Then Again, everyone was a bit unlike themselves, save for Colonel Potter who was the example for the rest of the camp. Even those who didn’t know Hawkeye all that well were acting off. It was really the idea that one of them had been taken. Someone from the camp, someone that they worked with, someone they saw every day. Someone that close. It wasn’t something read in Stars and Stripes, it wasn’t something they heard over the P.A with the daily report. It had happened there, amongst them. It was enough to shake anyone to the core.

Once Hawkeye was settled in The Swamp, BJ decided to start on his next task- finding out his Hawkeye had told his father he was back, and relatively okay. Under normal circumstances, he would have never breached Hawkeye’s, or anyone’s, privacy. Besides, he was sure Hawkeye would be less than pleased to hear that on top of everything else, his things had been rifled through. This was important though.

The Captain started looking around in obvious places- he was trying to avoid going through Hawkeye’s footlocker. BJ dug through the small bookshelf next to the still that sat between their bunks. Nudist Weekly, Naked Volleyball, some dirty magazines in Korean that he couldn’t read, and… a stack of opened mail. He’d seen Hawkeye receive some mail since his return, but come to think of it, he hadn’t seen his friend write any. Regardless, he might have while BJ was in OR or something of the like.

Rifling through the stack, he found some old letters, most from his father, a couple from a friend back home, and only one postmarked within the last few weeks. This one was opened already, so it wasn’t like BJ was really invading his mail. Like Frank Burns would have done, anyway.

He opened up the letter anxiously, scanning through the beginning of it quickly to see if anything indicated Hawkeye had given him a run-down of what had happened.

_Son,_

_You can’t believe how happy I am to hear you’re okay. I was afraid I would never get a letter from you again. I tried calling the Army myself but they wouldn’t give me any information. I was unable to get through to your camp. They told me it was a “security issue.” I’ve been worried sick waiting._

_From what you’ve told me about your friends there, and your Colonel, I trust that you are in capable hands. All the same, I wish they would send you home. You could always tell them it’s “Doctor’s orders.”_

_I’ll write you again soon. I hope you do the same._

_I love you, son. It makes me glad to say that to you again, when I feared I wouldn’t get to again._

_Your father  
Daniel Pierce _

BJ sighed in deep relief. So he had gotten word back to his father. That was good news. He read the letter over once more, just to be certain everything was alright. Though he paused at the part where his father wished him to be home. It made him a bit… sad? In a way he couldn’t describe. They all wanted to go home. They all wanted each other to be home. But they had all grown close with each other. BJ wanted to go home and forget he was ever here. He didn’t want to take anything home with him other than a Kimono and a folding fan.

He didn’t know what to do about Hawkeye. Especially now. How could he forget Hawkeye?

He couldn’t. He didn’t want to.

Still. Wouldn’t it be right for Hawkeye to go home? After all he had endured? It was unfair, in truth, that the Army detained him. All because he was a surgeon. It wasn’t like Med Schools were closing. They couldn’t find more? Of course, that wasn’t to say that doctors and surgeons weren’t in demand back home. BJ felt wrong… about being glad that Hawkeye was staying. It was selfish, he told himself. Very selfish, to wish this on anyone, simply to keep from being lonely. To keep from going mad.

The Captain shook the thought from his head. It wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on. The thought gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, the fact that a thought like that had even so much as entered his mind.

Instead he shoved the stack of Hawkeye’s letters back in their place on the bookshelf before plopping down on the foot of his own bunk. He wasn’t going anywhere until Hawkeye woke up. He needed to be here to handle whatever happened when his friend did wake up.

How he was going to do that was another story, and an unwritten one at that. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit short, I know. I hope you enjoy all the same. :)

Even under sedation, Hawkeye wasn’t alone. Even unaware of BJ’s unfaltering presence beside him, he wasn’t alone. Not in his dreams. In his dreams, he was blessed with the presence of those no longer living among them. Some at his own fault, he believed.

_There Hawkeye sat, on a cold, hard dirt floor, five bodies around him. Their faces were instantly recognizable, though some were wrapped in bloody gauze. Sergeant Thompson on his left, Sergeant Morrison on his right, and Private Shapiro in front of him. Behind the Private lay two more unidentified Korean soldiers. North or South, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter. A damaged body was a damage body- a life was a life when it needed saving._

_Except he hadn’t been able to save these lives. He had tried. Many hours in OR were spent between the surgeons at the 4077 th trying to save these boys. They were set to recuperate before being sent out to evac. hospitals, rehab in Tokyo, or their respective foreign units. That was the plan, before each were yanked from their beds and tossed with no regard into the back of a stolen ambulance. _

_Hawkeye tried to save them. God damn he tried. Even when their captors began taking one soldier at a time for what Hawkeye now knew was experimental surgery. He hadn’t even been able to take their bodies back, to be buried, with honor and dignity. To give their families closure. They deserved that at least. At least._

_The doctor frantically, instinctively, reached out to each one, searching for a pulse he would never find. Sliding their eyelids open, searching for a sign of life. For anything. He needed to save them. He had to save them. They deserved saving and he was the only one there to do it. It was his job, his responsibility. His burden._

_He just couldn’t do it. Not this time._

The Captain’s eyes struggled desperately to open, breath forcing itself into his lungs as he shot up in his bunk, gripping the rusted metal frame on either side of him as he dry-heaved. His face was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his pulse running at a speed comparable to an Olympian.

It was no time flat before BJ was crouched beside his cot, hands grasping at Hawkeye’s shoulders to steady him, as well as to make sure he didn’t get too excited and rip out his stitches or jostle everything inside around too much.

“Hawk? Hawk, what’s wrong? Talk to me.” BJ tried, watching his friend carefully. It’d been a few hours since he’d been brought back to The Swamp, so it made sense he was waking up about now. The Captain just hadn’t been expecting it that suddenly. Or that violently, for that matter.

Hawkeye’s voice cracked as he choked on his own breaths, “I-I… I couldn’t save them.” He breathed, muscles finally releasing tension as he leaned into BJ’s hands, which were still clasped firmly around his shoulders for support.

“Couldn’t save who, Hawkeye?” BJ asked

“The patients. Those kids that they _stole!”_ Hawkeye screamed, voice raising quickly and suddenly

BJ froze only for a moment. He had mourned the loss of their patients weeks ago. It wasn’t as though it didn’t bother him anymore, quite the opposite. Losing even one life was too much. But around here, no one could afford to stick on one death. No matter how easy it might have been to do so. He had to focus on Hawkeye, who was still here and still alive. Hawkeye was his first priority. It hadn’t crossed his mind that Hawkeye had taken it harder than he had.

“It wasn’t your fault, Hawk. You did your best.” BJ assured him, voice steady.

“I needed to do better! Don’t you understand? I was the doctor! I was the one there! What could I say to their families? That I was there and I just _couldn’t?_ They don’t even have bodies to bury, for fuck’s sake!” Hawkeye cried, eyes prickling hotly as tears began to leak out, his face turning an unbecoming shade of red, a likely mix of heightened stress and blood pressure at the given moment.

The other doctor was unsure of what to say. How could he tell Hawkeye that it was okay? It wasn’t. He didn’t know what he could possibly to say to make Hawkeye feel at peace with what happened, to make him realize that it wasn’t within his control and wasn’t his fault, that he gave all his could and sometimes that just wasn’t enough. He wanted the words to come, and he wanted Hawkeye to accept them even more.

The next time Hawkeye opened his mouth, his voice returned much softer, quieter. Vulnerable. “I couldn’t even help myself, Beej. There’s a real part of me missing. I can’t fix that. I can fix up almost any kid that comes through here, but I can’t fix that.”

BJ wanted to offer the world. Hell, he would give one of his own kidneys up willingly, just to make Hawkeye feel whole again. Literally. Even though he was quite sure Hawkeye would live just fine for the rest of his life with only one, he knew damn well that wasn’t all there was to it. Hawkeye had screamed this at him several hours ago in O.R.

Then he hatched an idea. An idea of such desperation, that when they are born, they leave a mark on the bearer.

“Hawkeye… Do you really want another kidney?” BJ asked, voice firm but bare, face expressionless. If they needed to, they could get one. Morally. In a way. The next kid that came through with a chest wound, or a head wound, no survival possible. They could salvage one. He could make Hawkeye whole again. If Hawkeye didn’t feel he could fix it on his own. BJ could try.

The thought made a chill run down his spine. It made him realize how much he had changed since arriving here. Never before would the thought have even crossed his mind. BJ would have stuck with the stance that one kidney is fine, that you can live almost the same. Never would he have suggested borderline stealing one. The war had changed him. Hawkeye had changed him more than anything.

“That’s not it, BJ!” Hawkeye insisted, a look of frustration growing on his face, “Do you even know what you’re offering? What you’re suggesting? That’s not the point! I won’t ever have mine! I’m missing my original hardware, god dammit! I’ll never have mine back! That choice was made for me! _It was taken from me!”_ he screamed, tears that were once a trickling river were now a rushing stream down his face, heavy, burdening sobs shaking his frame.

BJ decided words were getting him nowhere. Until now he’d thought himself to have a pretty impressive bedside manner. Instead of trying to calm his friend down verbally, he simply wrapped his arms around him, and held him as tightly as he dare without causing more pain or damage.

Hawkeye held on tight, as if he was drowning- and it damn sure felt like it- and BJ was his lifeboat.

“You’ll be okay, Hawkeye. You always are. You’ll be okay.” BJ said quietly, assuring.

 _As long as I’m alive,_ BJ thought, _I’ll make sure you’re okay._


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any errors/sloppiness I can't see right now. Haven't slept in a day and a half and I'm writing at 15% capacity. Hindsight, not the best choice I could have made.

Until this point, BJ had lead a pretty cushy life. Suburban California wasn’t exactly a hardship. A nice house, a beautiful wife, a darling baby girl and once he got back home, a great job. Life had been good, from the beginning on out. Never had he had to deal with the things that Korea had thrust upon him. Slowly he was learning. Adapting. He needed to, he knew, to survive, but god dammit if he didn’t want to adapt. He didn’t want to ever be used to this place.

It happened all the same. It crept up on the doctor-turned-Captain, and before he knew what was happening, it had pulled a bag over his head and kept him prisoner.

In light of recent events, he thought, that might have been the wrong choice of words.

Hawkeye was still recovering, mentally and physically. BJ did the best he could but he knew that his friend needed more. More than even he could give him. This meant he would have to dig into a hole that had been filled in already- with BJ, no less;

He had to call Trapper John.

Several days and nights BJ had contemplated whether or not this was the best decision. Hawkeye needed something. Someone. BJ saw it, and knew, deep down, he wasn’t cutting it. Maybe all Hawkeye needed was closure. After all, he never did get to say goodbye.

BJ had always felt he was stepping on Trapper’s legacy. The first few months that was all he had heard.

_“Boy, you would have loved Trapper.”_

_“I’m sorry you missed him. He was a great guy.”_

BJ envied him. Trapper was home with his wife and his kids. BJ would have given everything to be in that position.

What was he to do? One late afternoon about a week after Hawkeye’s screaming episode, while he was asleep in his bunk, BJ decided to write to Trapper John. It was easier, and more private, than a phone call. He’d filched the captain-turned-civilian’s address off of his personnel file- Through Klinger, with the condition that he keep quiet about it, all for the low, low price of a 48-hour pass to Seoul.

Now came the hard part; what did he say? How much did he say? How did he say it? He started and scraped a dozen letters, each one more difficult than the last. By the time he got something together, the sun was almost gone for the day.

_Dr. John McIntyre,_

_You don’t know me, but I know a lot about you. I’m sure you have a guess at who I am by the Korean postmark on this letter. I was drafted and brought to the 4077 th M*A*S*H after you went home. I sleep in your old bunk, in the same tent with your old bunkmate. I’m sure you don’t envy me my life right now._

_When I first met Hawkeye, he was upset and running in circles because he had just barely missed you at Gimpo Airport. He never got to say goodbye to you before he said ‘hello’ to me. I thought I had seen him move on, but something’s happened recently that’s put a crack in that smile of his._

_This past October, Hawkeye spent several weeks as a hostage in a North Korean surgical hospital that was running a severe degree of medical experiments. The Army still won’t let him go home. Surgeons are too valuable to let go._

_I don’t know what else I can do for him. It’s my medical, and personal, opinion that hearing from you would help him greatly. He doesn’t know I’m writing you, I got your address from Klinger, who now has Radar’s job. Radar went home almost six months ago. Hardship discharge._

_I can’t make you do anything. I won’t try to make you do anything. This letter is me trying to help Hawkeye, because right now, he needs all of it he can get._

_Wishing I was in your shoes, not mine,_

_Dr. BJ Hunnicut,_  
_Capt. US Army_  
_M*A*S*H 4077_  
_Korea_

BJ folded the letter carefully before sliding it into an envelope and sealing it. He slipped off to the office for a couple minutes just to make sure this got in the mail so Hawkeye wouldn’t see it lying around. By the time he was done and back in The Swamp, night had fallen completely and Hawkeye was still dozing. Though he had been doing considerably better lately, and was able to get up and walk around, even help in triage, he was still quite tired frequently.

Charles was already asleep, as well as Hawkeye, and BJ thought he might as well join them. After all, sleep in Korea was rare.

As was staying asleep. The entire Swamp, and camp, for that matter, were woken up by the rusty clink of the P.A system clicking on.

“Attention all personnel, incoming wounded! Choppers on the pad, ambulances in the compound!”

Hawkeye arose from his own cot sleepily, “Better than coffee in the morning.” He griped sarcastically, Charles shooting him a sneer.

“We got this one, Hawk.” BJ insisted, rolling out of his own bunk and sliding his boots on. He was still hesitant to let Hawkeye do any actual work.

“No way. You heard the announcement. Full house today.” Hawkeye insisted, giving BJ a look that said _‘that’s final.’_

BJ didn’t protest, but he would later if the session started to take its toll on Hawkeye. He’d be watching for that, even if Hawkeye didn’t think he would be.

They had a total of 76 injured this round, and from what the driver said, there were just as many or more either waiting at the 121st or headed to the 8063rd with even more at battalion aide stations.

“Let me guess, hill 403?” Colonel Potter grumbled as the surgical team scrubbed up, shaking his head

“Of course, everyone wants it. Such a great neighborhood. Curb appeal is fantastic.” BJ laughed as a nurse slid a gown over his arms.

The OR was bustling that day. With the added cold, they were trying to get patients in and out as fast as they could. Hawkeye had the chest case from the bus, BJ had a bowel with a shrapnel infection, Colonel Potter was taking care of a kid with half a shell in his gut, and Charles was trying to save a leg.

“Closing. Klinger, bring me a new one!” Hawkeye called, closing off with some 3-0 silk.

Klinger walked in, nurse’s hat pinned to his hair but otherwise GI, and began to roll Hawkeye’s patient away, “Bring ya a new one after this, captain.” He said, to which Hawkeye nodded wordlessly.

It wasn’t long before another wounded, mangled, torn to bits soldier was sitting in front of Hawkeye, prepped and ready to be put back together like the world’s worst puzzle.

“Klinger, take this one away! Tell the nurses to watch him.” Colonel Potter commanded, sending the gurney along with Klinger.

“Yes sir, right away sir.” Klinger replied, saluting with exaggeration.

Klinger wasn’t gone five minutes before he came back in, this time with someone else, a man in a South Korean uniform holding a mask over his face, “Colonel Potter, a Captain Chun here to see you. He said it was an emergency.”

“Sorry for the intrusion, Colonel. It seems I always come at a bad time. My commander told me you had wounded and sent me here to observe your surgery. We always seem to be behind and your unit is the best to learn from.” The Captain spoke

“No problem, Captain. Especially after you played translator for us last time you were here. Don’t know what we would have done without you.” Colonel Potter said, gesturing to a nurse, “Get scrubbed up and a nurse will get you a gown.”

Hawkeye froze, a pair of hemostats slipping through his fingers and clanking to the floor. He knew that voice. He’d heard it before, and now he recognized it. It was the voice he’d heard when he was captured and couldn’t recognize. The voice that had told him to crawl back to camp. Now it made sense, how the voice knew who he was and what unit he was with. Hawkeye couldn’t speak. He was between angry and upset and neither were working for him. He didn’t pay any attention to Captain Chun as he left. He didn’t notice when he came back in. He didn’t notice the captain until he was next to Hawkeye.

“Captain Pierce, do you mind if I observe your table?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone reading both stories side by side; yes, this version will be the same for the next couple bits, BUT with a lot of new/different points as well, so don't think you can simply skip chapters and keep up to date. Things will be used from version 1, for version 2 (this version). Remember, version 2 is the *same* story, simply without mpreg as a plot point. Much of it will be similar. I appreciate all who are reading.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so it's been a while. I got a new job back in April and it's taken up 90% of my time, and I've been dealing with some things personally, so here I am not sleeping again and writing MASH fic. Not gonna lie, a lot of this chapter is moved over from Version 1 because this is a place where the story lines can coincide, but I did mark up some changes and adapt it for this version of the story, and many more changes are coming in the next several chapters. I apologize for delays, but I really appreciate the comments I do get on this, they're a great motivator for me. For the time being, here's this chapter.

Hawkeye had a sharp, quick wit. He always had. In fact, he’d been kicked out of class many times for it. Grade school teachers expected it, however, the dean of admissions at his Alma Mater didn’t appreciate it. Right now that wit was buried down so deep he didn’t think he’d ever find it again.

“Get away from me.” He said, voice as sharp as ice and just as cold.

Captain Chun, fully dressed in surgical gear now, simply pulled up a chair next to Hawkeye’s table, “Thank you, Captain. I appreciate the chance to learn new surgical technique.”

Hawkeye very carefully considered shoving the pointed end of his scalpel in the man’s neck. Maybe shoving a pair of hemostats through his eyes. He had to remind himself that it wouldn’t make any difference. Two wrongs didn’t make a right. He wasn’t that kind of person. He pulled pranks and made jokes, but he didn’t cause injuries he would later have to sew up. Besides, they also had a backlog of patients in pre-op waiting for tables and he couldn’t leave them a surgeon short. Those kids depended on all of them to live and he wouldn’t cost other lives because of what had happened in his own.

They were in surgery for close to ten hours, and as the clock ticked away, Hawkeye’s nerves frayed a bit more. He was silent for most of the time, which evidently warranted a comment from Charles.

“Do you hear that? Silence. Pierce must have sutured his mouth shut on accident!” Charles guffawed, proud to have made the first crack.

Hawkeye didn’t respond. He didn’t say anything. He focused very intently on his work, trying to work as fast as he possibly could without making any mistakes. Captain Chun kept making small comments he disregarded, mostly about his “impressive technique” and how “this would better his own surgical skills.” Hawkeye shuddered at the thought of what that might mean for anyone else.

As soon as the last patient was cleared, Hawkeye was the first one out of the OR and the first one in the scrub room, shedding his surgical gear as quickly as he could. Captain Chun followed closely behind him, matching him step for step.

“Very impressive, captain. I see you are doing well. I heard you took a trip recently. How are you feeling?”

There was that voice again. The voice that had told him to crawl back to camp. It made bile rise in Hawkeye’s throat. He swung around, fist clenched so hard his knuckles were snow white, “You have a lot of nerve showing up like that, when I’m in surgery. Get out. Get out now.” Hawkeye growled menacingly, a tone of voice he’d never heard come out of his mouth.

BJ and Colonel Potter walked in not seconds later, Charles in tow complaining loudly about “primitive surgical conditions” and anything else that wasn’t up to his standards. Hawkeye barely even noticed them come in when he lunged for Captain Chun, landing one punch so violently that he probably shattered the man’s nose.

“Hawkeye!” BJ cried, pulling his friend off of the other captain, actively attempting to restrain him from further aggressive interaction.

“What in blazes is going on here?!” Colonel Potter bellowed

“He’s a liar! He’s a North Korean! He was there!” Hawkeye screamed, trying with all his might to break free of BJ’s hold and get maybe one more swing in

“What are you talking about, Pierce? He was where?! How do you know he’s a North Korean?!” Colonel Potter demanded, face turning an unbecoming shade of puce

“He was the one who dropped me off! Told me to crawl back to camp! He was the one who told them what to do to me! I never saw his face, but now, oh, now, I recognize his voice. He’s been here before! He knew me!” Hawkeye’s voice was losing its power near the end, and his chest felt as if it would crack at the sternum and cave in.

BJ’s face paled. He kept his arms around Hawkeye’s shoulders to hold him back, keep him from doing any more damage. He believed Hawkeye. He never knew Hawkeye to get upset without a reason, especially not this upset. He wanted to kill Captain Chun himself now. Drop his body in the cesspool behind the mess tent.

“Well, Chun, what do you have to say to those accusations?” Colonel Potter asked, voice calm and cold. The way he talked when he was angry, but he had to act like the colonel he was. It wasn’t a kind voice, or a forgiving one. It was a mask for fury boiling beneath the surface.

“Obviously he’s mistaken me for someone else. You Americans think we all look alike! He’s been through an ordeal from what I hear. He’s confused.” Captain Chun replied easily, shrugging as he tried to sop up the blood pouring forth from his nose after Hawkeye’s blow.

Colonel Potter raised a hand, as he did when he was going to make a point, “See, Pierce didn’t say he knew your face. He said he knew your voice. That’s a little harder to mistake, wouldn’t you say, Captain?”

“Colonel, he’s been through a lot. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.” Chun replied, voice not wavering once

“You keep saying that, son. How would you know? We’ve only called ICORP about the situation. Unless you’re telling me that the U.S Army leaks information to allied troops for no reason? The most you should know, if anything, was to look out for some North Koreans hijacking hospitals. Now, would you like some extra time to work on a better story?” Colonel Potter spat

“You can check with my commander. I am not North Korean.” Chun said. BJ noticed he was beginning to sweat just a bit.

“Why should I believe him? Why should he believe you! As if North Korea has never infiltrated troops before! We stick up for our own around here, sonny. Don’t think you’re winning any points with me! KLINGER! Go get me the MPs! Hunnicut, take Pierce back to the swamp. I’ll have Klinger fetch you if we need you. Winchester! I trust you keep a good military lawyer on retainer. Get me his information now!” Potter ordered

Winchester, who had been standing silently in shock behind them all until now, turned tail and walked through the curtain separating post from pre op, happy to leave the room. A North Korean! Who had been visiting their camp! Who had watched in in surgery! Who knows what could have happened!

Klinger entered through the curtain that separated OR and the scrub room from the office, directly followed by two large men with MP armbands, “MPs, sir!”

BJ wasn’t going to stick around with Hawkeye any longer to watch the ordeal. Hawkeye had since stopped kicking and fighting his way away from BJ and had gone numb. This made it easier for the taller doctor to walk him back to the swamp. Neither noticed the freezing wind outside, nor the transition to sparse heat in the tent. BJ set Hawkeye down on his bunk and was about to offer him a drink and then thought better of it, simply mixing one for each of them before sitting down and handing the second glass to Hawkeye.

“I’m going to have to testify.” Hawkeye replied, standing from the cot and beginning to pace around the tent, through the limited walking space around the heater in the center, “Potter told Charles to get him a lawyer. That means he’s going to press charges and it’ll go to trial. What am I supposed to say? What if…” Hawkeye couldn’t finish his sentences after that. He raised a hand to run through his greasy hair- how long had it been since he’d showered? He probably needed to soon. He didn’t want to. The last thing he wanted was to see his own naked body, marred with evidence of robbery and violation.

BJ sighed deeply, eyes fixated on Hawkeye, as if he expected his bunkmate to topple over at any moment- which was not entirely improbable, “You don’t have to say anything other than the truth. Everything will be fine, if we just do at least that much.”

Hawkeye appreciated the reassuring words, but he was still extremely worried about the possibility of testifying. He didn’t want to do it. He wanted to forget it. He was too goddamn ashamed to tell even BJ how he felt, what had happened, let alone a group of people at a trial. He didn’t want to bring it back up himself. Every time he made the mistake of letting a thought creep though, it brought with it a colony of bugs crawling under his skin. No matter how hard he scratched, the feeling didn’t go away. Maybe Sidney could speak for him? He was a psychiatrist and had jurisdiction to speak on behalf of someone else in court.

Of course, that might make him appear to be mentally unstable, and that might send him home. He couldn’t go home. Not now. All this time, his only want had been to go home. Now he couldn’t. He would be isolated, no one else could possibly dip into the abyss he’d shoved himself into. BJ was his source of light in the darkness that had caved in around him, and he couldn’t leave now.

“Try not to worry, Hawk. It’ll be taken care of.” BJ said, his voice reaching through Hawkeye’s thoughts.

That’s what Hawkeye was relying on. It was all he was relying on. He didn’t have anything else.

 


	12. Chapter 12

After the events of the OR the in which Hawkeye took on Chun with a Molotov cocktail of rage, Colonel Potter put a rush call into Sidney Freedman. He tried to pull as much muscle as he could without overdoing it. Maybe he was getting soft in his old age.

“Sidney, we need you down here right away. I know you’re busy this time of year, but it’s an emergency.” Colonel Potter expressed, holding the phone between his cheek and shoulder while he scrawled his John Hancock all over the morning’s stack of papers.

Christmas was but a few days away. It was Sidney’s worst time. It was everyone’s worst time, so far away from their families. Sidney also knew that Colonel Potter wouldn’t ask like this if it wasn’t a severe problem. “Alright, Colonel. Let me call in a replacement for frontline duty, I’ll be there by noon. Next jeep out of Tokyo.”

“Thank you, Major.” Colonel Potter dropped the phone back in its worn leather cradle and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d sent Captain Chun away on charges, and now he was bringing Sidney Freedman in. Things were working, for the time being. Getting Captain Chun away had been surprisingly easy. When pressing charges with the severity of the ones Chun was slapped with, it was rather simple to get the Judge Advocate General’s office involved. The Captain was in holding now.

Across the camp, Hawkeye was laying on his bunk, bundled up under copious layers, running thousands of scenarios through his head. Colonel Potter had given him the day off after yesterday, and BJ was covering for him in Post-Op. No fresh wounded today. But it was still early.

Hawkeye was right about a few things here, as the case tended to be- there would be a trial that he would have to testify at. With accusations like he had made- which were true statements he had dropped back in Chun’s lap, but still being officially addressed as ‘accusations’- there was no way around it.  The thought alone had begun a garden of anxiety that had taken root in his entire body, sprouting up at the worst of times.

What made it worse, in his mind, was that he couldn’t just get it over with. The holidays were coming up so the trial was set for January 21st. That was a little over a month he would have to wait, and wonder, how this was going to turn out for him, when all he wanted to do was fucking forget and move on. However, the other people involved in his life were setting things in motion to help him deal with it head on.

Hawkeye couldn’t stop thinking. What was going to happen? This was definitely going to trial. That was unavoidable at this point. How much would Chun say about what they had done to Hawkeye? Would he stay silent to save himself, or would he air it all just to humiliate and degrade Hawkeye? If he did air it all, how would that affect him? Would they ask to see a medical exam? Would they ask for x-rays? The captain wasn’t entirely sure that he could sit through a probing, prodding medical exam, let alone one with the J.A.G’s doctors.

What if the trial resulted in a discharge? Then he was really screwed. Truly alone. His father couldn’t even know. Until now, he’d wanted nothing more than to go home. Now he needed to stay. He needed to stay, and be with BJ, or he wasn’t going to make it through this. Hell, even staying, he didn’t know if he could make it. Someone had shuffled up his puzzle pieces, and nothing was ever going to be right again.

Everything swirling around in his head made it feel like his skull was going to shatter at any moment. He didn’t know what to do or how to handle any of it. His eyes burned as hot tears trickled down, dark blotches of nothingness forming in his vision. He bit down on his tongue to keep from sobbing, but he couldn’t seem to get enough air in his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. _This is where I die,_ he thought. Not on the operating table in that crappy hostage camp, but here, in his bunk.

Before he knew what was happening, someone was touching him. Someone had their arms around his shoulders and was speaking to him. He couldn’t make out the words over the high pitched ringing in his ears. Everything else was drowning out.

“… -keye, talk to me. Come on. It’s BJ. Everything’s okay. You’re okay.” BJ said, his own voice shaking ever so slightly as he tried to hold Hawkeye steady. Hawkeye leaned on the other man wordlessly, gasping for breath that had been ripped from his lungs. Slowly but surely, he began to slow down, his muscles relaxing, though his breath remained hitched above where it should have been, tears still occasionally rolling down his flushed cheeks.

It was then that the door to The Swamp opened, and in popped Sidney Freedman, whose greeting smile quickly flipped when he saw Hawkeye, “What happened here?” he asked, voice as calm as ever. No one had ever heard Sidney Freedman yell. Maybe he didn’t even know how.

When it was apparent that Hawkeye wasn’t much in the way of speaking, BJ piped up, “I got off duty in post-op and came back here. When I walked in he was having a full blown panic attack.”

Sidney quickly shut the door behind him- mostly because it was freezing outside- and took a seat on one of the unoccupied bunks. “I see I have impeccable timing.” He noted, smile reappearing.

They sat in silence for a few moments longer while Hawkeye calmed down. BJ didn’t lighten his grip once. He actually didn’t care how it looked to Sidney. Not now, especially. He couldn’t leave Hawkeye to do this alone. When Hawkeye seemed to be breathing regularly, Sidney spoke up again.

“Do you want to tell me what brought this on?” he asked, watching Hawkeye observantly.

“Things. I was thinking of things.” Hawkeye mumbled, shaking his head as if the words had become bugs on his skin. It was a feeling that had grown familiar to him, yet no more welcome as it returned over and over again.

“What kind of things?” Sidney asked, pushing further. Sidney was kind and compassionate, but he didn’t often hold back.

BJ knew. He knew as soon as Hawkeye gave him that look. The look that conveyed a thousand words unspoken. “I said I’d talk to him. I didn’t say I’d spill my guts-” Hawkeye stopped mid word. He hadn’t thought his choice in phrasing through entirely before opening his mouth. The fact that he had been the one to say it made him feel even worse. The doctor hung his head in shame. His pride had never been lower, and it was already modest to begin with, behind all the jokes and the talk.

“What am I missing here?” Sidney asked, voice not raising one octave. Colonel Potter had given him a brief summary on the phone- one of the men involved with Hawkeye’s kidnapping and torture had showed up in OR, there was a fight, and he needed to come immediately.

BJ shot a quick look at Hawkeye and in a fraction of a second was able to make the assessment that his friend was in no fit shape to... _open up_ , in this case. So the blonde surgeon did it for him. Quickly, but concisely, going over the details of Hawkeye’s surgery... and what he and Colonel Potter had done to fix it. The mis-matched organs, the missing ones.  

Hearing it brought back all of Hawkeye’s insecurities from before. He could feel his lungs closing off and his eyes burning. He tried quickly to regain his composure but it was slipping from him. BJ tightened his grip on the other man quickly, as if to catch him before falling.

“Hawkeye, is there something you’d like to add?” Sidney asked calmly, gazing at the dark-haired doctor. This was his not-so-subtle way of dragging Hawkeye back in. Hawkeye shook his head nervously, eyes blank and fixated on the cold, dirt floor. The psychiatrist sighed deeply- he needed to find a way to get Hawkeye to open up before the trial, or this was going to be a lot harder than it needed to be.

Sidney made a mental note to meet with Klinger and Colonel Potter later to strategize for an upcoming trial. He’d been to a few Army trials, but never played a big role. He didn’t know who he would be here. But he was competent. The psychiatrist knew he could handle it. He was confident.

Unlike Hawkeye, who was unraveling before his eyes.

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look at me, disappearing for a month or two and popping up for no reason again. This probably isn't as good as it could be, but I'll kick myself later. 
> 
> Thanks to Sandrina, for helping me get off my ass for this one. I need all the motivation I can get. Hope you enjoy :)

Christmas had come and gone already. The days moved quickly, the nights slowly, but time all together was not a friend to Hawkeye. As the trial approached, he could feel a lump in his gut that was twisting his intestines into knots around knots around knots. It was easier to feel numb, to feel cold, than to feel at all, but when you feel numb and you don’t care, sometimes time can move much faster than normal, as opposed to much slower.

Days were spent in the E.R and nights were spent in The Swamp. He didn’t want to be around people. He couldn’t face them. The polite conversation and the sideways glances.

 _I know you know what happened to me,_ he wanted to scream, J _ust say it! I know you know! Quit pretending like I’m just ‘Hawkeye’ to you._

The doctor felt like he had a label in bright bloody red painted on his scrubs. He felt ashamed of what had happened to him, what he had become, and even more goddamn ashamed because everyone knew. Just another thing he couldn’t control. He couldn’t control anything anymore. He was drafted- couldn’t control that. Stuck in Korea- couldn’t control that. Had to eat mess tent slop every day- couldn’t control that. The last thing he had that was his to own, to control, was his body. He could pour gin into it, he could fuck people with it, he could smoke like a chimney if he wanted, and that was all his choice.

Until one day, even his body, was no longer his to control. Filleted like a fish and thrown out like the garbage in the cesspool. Told to crawl, like a rat in an alley, through dirt and shell fragments pounded into the soil by hundreds of jeeps.

He could still hear Chun telling him to crawl back. The thought made his skin crawl, but only for a few minutes before his blood practically boiled with anger. He wanted to wring his fucking neck, squeeze until his head popped off. He could just imagine it.

_Who’s broken now?_

“Hawkeye!”

The dark-haired doctor suddenly snapped up. BJ was in front of him, still in a bath robe, fresh from the shower tents. How long had he been there?

“I’ve been trying to get your attention. Are you okay? You’re shaking.” BJ noted, eyes roving over Hawkeye apprehensively, as if he were surveying a bomb he’d been assigned to diffuse.

It had suddenly come to Hawkeye’s attention that he’d been white knuckling his chair- a rusted out army model wrapped in red and white striped cloth with the intention of making do for a beach chair- only wishing it were Chun. As much anger, as much rage, as he felt, he knew the moment he saw Chun it would melt away, and he’d feel just like he did back on that operating table when he was put under for the first time.

“I’m fine.” Hawkeye replied dismissively, rising from his chair to pour himself a drink. Drinking wasn’t like it used to be. He felt sicker quicker, but he didn’t care. He could damn well destroy what was left of his insides if he wanted, even though the physician- albeit a boozy one- in him was screaming to heal first, destroy later.

“Of course. You’re the picture of ‘fine’.” BJ said, rolling his eyes as he dropped his robe, leaving only a pair of civilian skivvies behind, beginning to dig through his foot locker for a semi-clean pair of fatigues.

Hawkeye couldn’t help but stare. BJ’s body held an allure higher than most for him. Tall, muscular in a subtle way, tanned considerably in the months since he’d arrived in Korea. It was amazing he hadn’t regressed to the Neanderthal state of drooling.

Before he really knew what he was doing, or before he could think twice about who could be walking through that wobbly wooden door, there he was behind BJ, one arm sliding around and snaking down his boxers, taking hold of his cock.

BJ shuddered visibly, body relaxing against Hawkeye’s more and more with every new touch. Hawkeye’s hand slide up and down BJ’s hardened member, thumb and forefinger making deep, slow strokes up either side.

That was when they heard it. That incessant whistling.

_Charles._

Hawkeye pushed BJ forward, and in turn, BJ pushed Hawkeye back, both of them landing on the other’s cot. BJ, thinking quickly, with all the cleverness of a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, bolted up and turned around to face the still while Hawkeye dove under multiple layers of blankets, wondering why BJ hadn’t thought to do the same. It was still January, after all. January… January 19th. That meant the trial was only-

“Gentleman.” Charles nodded cordially to each of them as he pranced through the door, bald globe of a head positioned above three thick scarves that together could pay off a mortgage, probably.

“Charles, how lovely of you to join us. Please, have a seat, the waiter will come ‘round with drinks in a moment.” BJ replied, tone exaggerated in the most upper-crust way he could possibly manage.

Hawkeye was still too stunned to speak. That was almost close. From his angle, looking at BJ, it was still too close for comfort. Forget handing BJ a coat, he could have been the coat _rack_. 

“As if I would ever drench my liver in that _swill_.” Charles hissed, “And for god’s sakes Hunnicut, put some clothes on. You’re downright indecent in this weather.”

BJ nodded curtly, clearing his throat in near silent agreement as he reached to the side for the pants he had almost made it into earlier, yanking them up over his hips as quickly, and sharply, as he possibly could, following suit with two shirts and a jacket. Only then did the cold begin seeping into his skin.

“Captain Jernigan will be arriving this evening. I’ve already told Potter to expect him. I’ve completed my end of the deal. Now you do yours and don’t waste what I’ve given you.” Charles said, rummaging through his foot locker for aftershave.

Hawkeye stiffened. Captain Robert Jernigan was Charles’ lawyer on a leash, as Hawkeye saw it. The legal term, he believed, was “on retainer.” The trial really was that close. The lawyer was coming. His dress uniform was starched within an inch of its life and hanging from the rusted rail beside his bunk.

The chill that had been surrounding him outside broke through the barrier in his mind and crept inwards, sinking down below until it fell into what felt like a pool of ice shards deep, deep inside his chest.

BJ had been saying something to him, but Hawkeye was already gone, turning over in his bunk, eyes covered and ears plugged, as if becoming deaf and blind would somehow pause the outside world, or even better, back it up to somewhere better. Shallow breaths and burning eyes raged until he was simply too tired to fight it anymore.

_Every time I close my eyes, I see their faces._

But he did close his eyes, and the next time he opened them, it was January 21st.

  

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In hindsight, last chapter wasn't all it could have been. Trying to make up for it with this one. I was trying to get this update up a bit sooner, because I know I've been sporadic. Took a bit longer than intended. I feel like I've had it open on my desktop for ages. I'm really burned out right now, honestly, but I will be continuing on with the story! Will try to update again soon...ish. This story does stay on my priorities list, so no worries, I'll return a.s.a.p.

The morning of January 21st was about ten degrees warmer than the previous days of the month had been, still leaving it freezing, but to Hawkeye, he might as well have been shipped out to the tropics with how much he was sweating. The trial had been set for 8am, so those attending the event had risen just before dawn. Charles was staying behind, as he felt providing the lawyer had completed his involvement, and they needed a surgeon behind, as well as someone to take over a temporary C.O while Potter was away.

A majority of the surgical staff was going to be gone- Potter, BJ, and of course Hawkeye, with the bonus feature of Sidney Freedman and Captain Jernigan, who had arrived a day and a half prior. With so much of the core staff gone, Margaret had all of her nurses on duty, and they’d borrowed a surgeon from the 8063rd across the way. Colonel Potter had almost told BJ to stay, but in reality they needed all the support they could get, and he was almost sure that Hawkeye might crumble to the ground if he didn’t have BJ along for the ride.

When Hawkeye woke that morning, he had tried to prolong leaving his cot as long as possible, but he knew he would never get back to sleep. He felt like absolute shit. His brain had walked off in the middle of the night and left his skull filled with cotton instead, or so it felt. Cold sweat covered his skin in a thin, gleaming shine, despite the fact that it was probably all of forty degrees Fahrenheit outside, and he was quite sure he was going to lose his breakfast any moment, leaving alone the fact that he hadn’t eaten any. It was the world’s worst hangover, without the pleasure of having enjoyed being drunk first. If he was going to feel hungover, might as well drink, right? Then again, that would probably make this worse.

When the two surgeons were getting dressed, the sun was rising, which was infinitely helpful seeing as Class-A uniforms were complicated enough without having to put them together in the dark. He hated these uniforms, and he hated it more so today. They were rigid, uncomfortable, and fit wrong in just the right places. Hawkeye dressed quickly, quietly, while BJ tried to make small talk in hushed tones so as not to wake Charles and incur his wrath in the wee hours.

By the time both of them had made it out of the tent and managed to have a cup of coffee or five each, the sun was up fully and Colonel Potter was loading files and folders into the back of a jeep in front of his quarters, while another jeep sat behind it.

“Morning.” The Colonel nodded, squaring away a leather briefcase in the back corner of the seat, “I figure we’ll take two jeeps, between the five of us, and all of these.” He said gesturing to the files in the back. It looked like a mix of Potter’s and Sidney’s. They’re probably compiled everything, not knowing what would need to be pulled when. The colonel tossed a set of keys up in the air in BJ’s direction, but Hawkeye caught them instead.

“I’ll drive.” Hawkeye said, casually, as if he didn’t feel like he was going to vomit all over his shoes any moment.

“Son, I don’t think that’s the best idea.” Potter pointed out, giving a warning glance.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll even pause at the stop signs.” Hawkeye joked, a weak smile spilling through.

Before Potter could offer a sterner rebuttal, Captain Jernigan approached, leather file case tucked under his arm, with Sidney Freedman close behind at a more casual pace. You could see it eating Jernigan that he was a pace ahead of a superior officer, but it looked like he had made his peace with it for the time being.

Jernigan was rather young, thirty-five or so, Hawkeye guessed. He had close-cropped hair in a dark shade of hazelnut and a crooked, pointed nose that was holding up a pair of army-issue wire frames, behind which sat bright blue eyes that seemed to follow your every move. That was probably the intention, though, Hawkeye thought. Look for any weakness and use it later.

“Morning, Colonel. Captains.” Captain Jernigan said stiffly, offering a salute. He was regulation, alright, right down to his spit-shined shoes.

“Morning Captain, Major.” Potter replied, acknowledging each of the approaching officers.  

“Shall we go?” Sidney inquired casually, a subtle smile behind his mustache, as always, “Are you ready, Hawkeye?”

Hawkeye was already sitting in the driver’s side of the jeep by that point, revving the rattling, roaring engine to life, “Don’t want to keep them waiting.” He replied, likely with the intention of coming off jovial, but instead sounding incredibly strained, as if he had to rip the words out of his mouth with pliers.

BJ climbed wordlessly into the passenger side of the jeep, throwing a silent look at Sidney, who picked up the cue like it had a handle and climbed into the back seat of the same jeep, “Let’s try to miss the potholes this time.” BJ joked, attempting to cut through the tension, but it was like trying to cut sheet metal with a toothpick.

Captain Jernigan turned to Colonel Potter once more, “Permission to ride in the Colonel’s jeep, sir?” he inquired formally.

Potter nodded once, “Permission granted, Captain. Come on.”

Without another word, they were off. This was the first time Hawkeye had driven since coming back, and it felt… good. Liberating, in a way. He kept a steady speed behind the Colonel’s jeep for the first two or three miles, getting back into the rhythm again. Cold air slapped his face, threatening to knock his hat off his head, which was probably why everyone else had removed theirs for the journey and tucked it elsewhere on their person. Regardless, he was starting to pick up speed behind the Colonel, and with an opportunity on an empty, but narrow road, he swerved around and took the lead, pressing down until the gas pedal was scraping olive paint off the floorboard.

It was at least another twenty minutes to Incheon, but Hawkeye was determined to make it in ten if he kept this speed up, and then some.  

“Hawk, don’t you think you should slow down a bit?” BJ asked, white knuckling the side of his seat. He looked back behind him, half expecting to Sidney to say something as well, but like always, Sidney was the observer, the analyzer, and this was probably going to get processed later as some sort of reckless behavior.

Hawkeye took one hand off the wheel which elicited an audible gasp from BJ, and waved it dismissively, “I’ll slow down when we get there.”

“How about slowing down now and _stopping_ when we get there? We have to park the jeep in front of the building, not _through_ the bui- _Hawkeye!_  Watch it!” BJ snapped as they rounded- swerved, skidded, gently glided, same difference- the corner into the parking lot- read: sectioned off plot of dirt designated for army vehicles- in front of the J.A.G building.

Hawkeye slammed the jeep to a screeching halt, causing Colonel Potter to stop short behind him and do the same.

“Pierce! You’re lucky you operate better than you drive! What were you doing back there?!” Colonel Potter hissed angrily, hopping out of his jeep- he didn’t want to make a scene or do this loudly, not here. Anything would risk this for them.

“Didn’t want to be late. That would be rude, Colonel.” Hawkeye replied, readjusting his hat to the center of his head, though his hair was still falling out of it on the sides.

“We can’t blow this, Pierce! Get inside.” Potter snapped, shaking his head- why did he go into the Army? He wanted to lead troops, not children. He might as well have signed up to be a brass-bearing babysitter.

Hawkeye skulked forward to the door, holding it open for those filing in behind him. BJ looked slightly sick, but that might have been Hawkeye’s driving more than it had been nerves. Once inside, Potter lead the way, taking point in the operation as he guided the group through the doors, offices, and clerks until they reached what was likely the largest room in the building.

It was no different than most Army buildings that had been hastily set up in Korea- cheap walls, a roof that would probably give in with the next bad wind storm, and a concrete floor that would be the only thing left standing if and when they ever left this country, probably becoming the foundation for a farmhouse in the next fifteen years. Four rows of eight chairs, four on either side with an aisle down the middle, were set up, with a row of long, wooden tables against a set of five chairs along the back wall. Off to the right were two rows of the same chairs, presumably for a jury, but those were remaining empty today. Between the main chairs and the long tables were two shorter tables on either side of the aisle. Jernigan took the right side.

“Where is everyone?” BJ asked, surveying the empty room, voice echoing back. Jernigan grunted once in vague acknowledgement before unloading his arms onto the table. He’d brought everything in at once, not wanting to double back through the building, and presumably not wanting to miss something.

“With the way Pierce drove, we’re so early, I doubt they’ve even woken up yet.” Potter grumbled.

Sidney tipped his head towards one of the doors on the back wall- this one on the left side of the long tables, “Looks like you spoke too soon, Hunnicut.” Sidney said in a murmur.

Jernigan shot to attention, releasing the folder he’d been holding. Potter stiffened as well, both saluting as three officers entered, trailing behind them one lowly corporal with a typewriter in his arms. Two MPs followed shortly and made themselves at home in front of either door, two more silently walking in the door everyone else had come in and taking up posts on either side.

 Sidney remained casual, but respectful, as always. BJ gave a salute out of obligation, anything to make this go easier. Hawkeye refused.

The elder of the men sat in the very middle seat, the two men behind him taking up either side, “Good morning. I’m Colonel Maddox, presiding judge for this case. This is Captain Weathersby and Major Braxton.” He said, gesturing to his left and then his right.

Colonel Potter held his salute for a few moment longer, “Colonel, Captain, Major.” He nodded, acknowledging each one for a moment in time before taking a seat on the far end of Jernigan’s table, gesturing for Hawkeye to sit next to him. Though he was hesitant at first, Hawkeye took his seat next to Colonel Potter, eyes locked on a crack in the wood on the far side of the room. It was his only way of staying focused.

Sidney and BJ filed in to the row of chairs directly behind Jernigan’s table, while Jernigan himself took the seat on the other side of Hawkeye. They were almost all set up. Except for one important thing.

_Chun._

Someone must have read his mind, because at that moment, the door that they come through themselves opened, and another Jernigan walked in- standard issue G.I lawyer, probably not paid as well since he wasn’t Charles’- followed by two MP’s who were holding Chun between them. Wherever had had been held, the place had not been kind to him. He looked tired and perhaps like he had lost a bit of weight.

 _Good._ Hawkeye thought, though he tried to feel guilty for thinking it, _He should feel rotten._

Chun was placed in the middle chair at the table opposite Jernigan’s, the lawyer on the right, an MP on the left of Chun and one in the row behind, across the aisle from BJ and Sidney.

“Well then. Looks like we’re all assembled. Shall we begin?” Colonel Maddox asked, though Hawkeye was sure no one would dispute him. “Captain Ki-Nam Chun, as we’ve found your name to be, you’ve been brought on charges of kidnapping, medical experimentation, and murder of U.S soldiers here with the U.N. What say you to these charges?”

“I say the Captain is confused. You all think we look the same.” Chun replied coolly, his lawyer shooting him a nasty look that practically screamed _shut it before you make this worse._

“Not guilty, then?” Colonel Maddox replied indifferently. Hawkeye was itching to get on with it and get this over with.

Though the proceedings began slowly, with a lot of legal jargon he didn’t particularly care for, he tuned in for the important bits and tried to tune out as much as he could. He’d rather be anywhere else.

“—exam was performed by Captain Hunnicut, correct?”

Hawkeye tuned back in then. Colonel Potter was still to his right, standing almost fully at attention for this.

“Yes sir, Colonel. I can vouch for it myself.” Colonel Potter said confidently, respectfully. Not as if he was speaking to a fellow bird, but a fellow bird who had the power to cook his goose.

“Is Captain Hunnicut a reliable doctor?” Colonel Maddox inquired, peering over the stack of files in front of him.

“One of our best.” Colonel Potter replied smoothly.

“Since you’re so confident you wouldn’t mind if we had our own exam?” Captain Weathersby asked, speaking up from the side, eyeing Potter distrustfully. Hawkeye flinched. He knew that would be coming. He had fucking known it. How could he deal with that? He had a feeling that sitting on the other side of the table, at the hand of a Colonel, gave Weathersby a false sense of authority. Colonel Potter, however, still knew he was only speaking to a Captain, and the Army was the Army.

“You wouldn’t be questioning my staff, would you, Captain? I’m sure you’ve seen our record. Mighty impressive, I might say, if I were one to blow my own horn. My company clerk would be more than happy to send copies of everything we have to you, if you’ve misplaced the ones we brought today, _Captain_.” Colonel Potter replied firmly.

“I believe we have everything we need.” Colonel Maddox intercepted, most likely trying to stop a military coup before it took off.

 _Crisis averted._ Hawkeye thought, taking a deep breath in and relaxing in his chair ever so slightly, that is, as much as you could relax in one of those things.

He was able to tune out again while Jernigan and Chun’s lawyer went back and forth over Colonel Maddox’s like a lumberjack’s saw over a large country pine. An objection here, insult there. The next time he checked out of the mental motel, Sidney was taking the stand, which happened to be a rickety chair to the corner of the judges’ table.

“Major Freedman, what can you say about Captain Pierce’s mental state?” Colonel Maddox asked, full attention on the psychiatrist.

Sidney, as cool and collected as ever, simply turned to the Colonel and without raising an octave in his voice, gave the most lunatic statement, “He’s crazy. But that’s normal.”

Colonel Maddox seemed flabbergasted, “So you think his word isn’t to be taken seriously?”

“I never said that.” Sidney replied, a smile tugging at the corner of his mustached lips, “Colonel, I realize you signed your soul away to this life, but for those of us who didn’t, we’re all a little crazy. It’s a side effect of being ripped from a nice, safe, antiseptic life and then dumped into a cesspool of death and dysentery. It’s also a side effect of being ripped from the pit of death and dysentery that you’ve come to know as home, and people there you’ve come to know as family, and spending almost a month in a butcher hospital with _curious_ people who would like everyone from your country killed, and some of your organs harvested like cabbage.”

Colonel Potter was attempting to maintain some sort of composure. On the one hand, he couldn’t believe Sidney had fully mouthed off like that to a Colonel, on the other hand, he couldn’t help but agree it was painfully accurate. Hawkeye was squirming in his chair; hearing everything repeated back sent bugs under his skin, almost as bad as when he woke up in the middle of the night, screaming for his life. He couldn’t wait for this to be over.

Colonel Maddox twitched a bit in frustration at the blatant display of insubordination. “Thank you for your testimony, Major. You may take your seat. We’ll be taking a short recess. When we return,” he began, eyes now locked on Hawkeye, “Captain Pierce will be taking the stand.”

The last thought Hawkeye had before it all went black was, _If I salute while vomiting, can I leave?_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: If I fucked up the court room setting, my apologies. I'm just going off what's been used for the court room settings in the M*A*S*H episodes. If you saw any major mistakes in setting/procedure, please feel free to point them out. I won't get offended. Promise I won't bite.


End file.
